George Weasley and the Computational Error
by pisoprano
Summary: George Weasley may be 40 years old now, but he still misses his twin dearly. And when he has the chance to go back to 1989 and see Fred alive again and stop everything from happening, he can't resist. George's relationship with everyone he loves, however, will change in the process. Canon (mostly) and Time Travel. NoSlash. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, who isn't me. The only profit I get from this is personal satisfaction.

**George Weasley and the Computational Error**

Turning Back

* * *

George Weasley had a shadow over his soul ever since he lost his brother, Fred. He had tried to live for both himself and his identical twin that fateful day, but he always knew it could never be enough.

His son, Fred Jr, had always tried to live up to the elder twin's memory, but the pranking gene had skipped a generation, it seemed. Fred (although Angelina always called him Junior, George had insisted on using Fred's name whenever he could so that he—for that fraction of a moment—could pretend his brother was alive once more) had deplorable attempts at creating mischief, despite growing up in the most successful prank shop in Britain. It was probably just too much pressure on the boy and not enough true release into the realm of fun. George simply wasn't a good example of that free whimsy anymore—_Ron_ of all people was the one who usually came up with new ideas for products while George applied his years of knowledge to make them real. And tomorrow he and his sister would start Hogwarts.

George waited until Angelina fell asleep before he got up and took his broom out for a ride. It emptied his head so that he didn't have to deal with the nightmares about his twin dying over and over again. Too much, anyway. Every birthday, Christmas, anniversary—and now the first day of school—the nightmares would come even if he took a Dreamless Sleep Potion.

As he flew, he became aware of a small globe of light that seemed to be following him. George tried to shake it off, but it was more determined than a Bludger under the influence of a maiming house-elf.

"Wait up!" a voice said from behind him. "I just want to talk!"

George slowed his broom, but kept a wand in one hand and his other in his pocket, where he kept his Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder.

"Thank you," the voice, emanating from the sphere of light, said. "I have something rather important to talk to you about."

"Couldn't you have waited until the shop opened?" George asked.

"No. I am making a proposition."

"And I am happily married, thank you. And I have no idea whether you're female or not, as you sound rather androgynous—not that it matters."

"It doesn't," the voice agreed. "I was talking more along the lines of me offering you an opportunity I know you won't refuse."

"And what is that?" George asked.

"A chance to save Fred."

"What have you done with my son?" George asked, gripping his wand tighter.

"Nothing at all—and I'm not going to. I was talking about your son's namesake."

George scoffed. "Fred is dead—barring time travel, I'm not going to save him from anything anytime soon."

"Good, because that was exactly what I had in mind."

George's broom fell a couple feet before he regained enough control over his brain to catch himself. This little orb of light was definitely controlled by a malicious prankster. "Are Harry and all of his friends coming too?" he deadpanned.

"I can't send anyone else back because the universe would notice an extra version of themselves running around for an extended period of time and it would try to correct it. You, however, already have a duplicate that the universe knows about and it would just assume that it's you're a computational error and not a problem. The Creator is quite bad with numbers, you see, and the universe has learned to compensate. You can exploit this."

"So you're going to send my spirit back to the Battle of Hogwarts so I can save Fred, is that it?" George asked.

"No, it'll have to be your whole body as it is currently," the voice replied. "Where did you get the idea that time travel didn't involve moving matter?"

"Do you have any idea how many of my nieces and nephews have written stories about how one of their relatives or family friends have gone back in time to relive their years at Hogwarts?" George asked. "That sort of thing isn't going to work if they are still their older selves, physically speaking."

"Okay," the voice said, "I'm not sure if I should tell you this, but I think it may be possible for you to do things your way, but that means that you'll have to go back to first year—before most people notice a change in you—instead of just before the Battle of Hogwarts."

"What do I do?" Even if this _was _some bizarre prank, George couldn't let an opportunity like this one fly away from him.

"You'll have to sporadically possess your younger self," the voice explained. "You can't do it continuously or your current body will die and the universe will realize something is wrong. I think I can add the conditions to the mechanism that'll send you back, so you have nothing to worry about."

"What about limitations?"

"You only get to go back once, but once you're there, you're free to alter history as much as you want. I'd advise you to keep your current body from being very close to Fred's for very long, at least for a few years, so the universe doesn't look at you too closely. At the very least, keep the fact that you're a time traveler in your head for at least one year—after that, you're more or less integrated into that version of the universe and it's much more difficult for you to be deleted, although it's highly advisable to wait—just in case."

"And just what do _you_ get out of all this?"

"I just want to swindle the universe. Surely you can understand that?"

"I suppose I do," George laughed. "When can I go back?"

"Don't you want to say goodbye to all of your loved ones first?"

"Why?" George asked. "This timeline won't have existed after I go."

"You don't know that. For all you know, this reality will continue and it'll be like you died and your body was lost in Majorca, never to be found."

"Majorca?"

"Obscure reference, never mind."

"As much as I love my family here, I'd give anything to see Fred alive again."

"Normal people invest in a Pensieve," the voice said dryly. "But, of course, we are not normal. We strive for insanity and hope we kill Dark Lords on the way."

"You want me to use my future knowledge to kill He Who Must Not Be Nosed?"

"I'd make sure I got the full details from Ron or Harry before I tried anything that stupid, if I were you. You're just going back to make sure that a certain wall doesn't explode while Fred is under it. Of course, the likelihood of that exact incident happening again after you spend nine years destroying the timeline is pretty slim."

"You _want_ me to preserve the timeline, don't you?"

"They call me 'the Trickster' for a reason: you'll never know what type of gambit I'm trying to pull, but it's going to be hunky dory by the end of it."

* * *

George decided to just leave a note for everyone—he had more relatives than he could count after all—but he gave personal goodbyes to Angelina, Fred, and Roxanne. He didn't tell them where he really was going, but he made it clear that he would probably only come back "if the universe spits him back out."

He kicked his broom up into the air and the light globe returned. "You've been crying, haven't you?"

"_You_ tell your family 'goodbye forever' and try not to cry," George retorted.

"Has your decision changed?" the voice asked.

"No. Fred is Fred. I'm not going to abandon him again."

"I can leech out the potency of their memories for you," the voice offered.

George considered it. "I'll still remember them, right?"

"Yes, but you won't miss them and you can focus on your brother without worrying about this timeline. If here continues to exist, I'll make sure they're okay when you're gone."

George nodded. "Do it."

"Close your eyes and focus your mind on the ones you love. Focus." George felt a tickling sensation on the side of his head. "It is done. Are you ready to return to 1989?"

"Yes."

"Keep your eyes closed_._" George felt a chain being placed around his neck, followed by a small prick on his arm and the sensation of his head being submerged in water. Then things proceeded to get so fast and weird that he doubted that he'd be able to remember it all without assistance from a Pensieve. Still, George decided figuring out the secret behind time travel was useful enough knowledge that he'd have to sneak into Dumbledore's office and borrow his Pensieve sometime.

Suddenly, George felt different—the time travel was successful.


	2. Chapter 2

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, who isn't me. The only profit I get from this is personal satisfaction.

* * *

A Horrible Sense of Humor

* * *

George was still himself, of course, but he wasn't on a broom floating in the air. It, along with whatever else the Trickster placed on him, was left behind in the other timeline (honestly, he was lucky to still have his robes and wand). George, as he fell towards the ground at a speed higher than one experienced regularly, instinctively Apparated away, back to the outskirts of the Burrow. He knew the Trickster didn't want George interacting with Fred in his adult form, but even Fred would be asleep at that hour of the night, so he risked it.

George tiptoed through the living room past the Weasley family clock and, at a second thought, went back and made sure his hand on his mother's invention wasn't going haywire trying to figure out which George it should synchronize with. The whole family was stuck on "home," but since George was home, that was mostly irrelevant. To test it, George took the clock off the wall and carried it beyond the anti-apparition wards Bill had once placed around the house and Apparated to St. Mungo's. The "George" hand didn't so much as quiver to "hospital," and so George Apparated back home before people started asking him questions about what he was doing there.

Now that he thought about it, George would have to start anew with his career—he couldn't just rely on his mother to keep a strange—if familiar—grown man fed for no reason. The shop was out of the question since George didn't have any resources to start with. That meant he'd have to find an employer who would take on a wizard with no O.W.L.'s on record. Maybe he could claim that he was home-schooled or from another country? And, of course, someone was bound to notice his resemblance to the Weasley family, so he'd have to find a way to change his hair color at the very least. Black like Harry's family would probably be appropriate—the boys of the Boy-Who-Lived were born Weasleys, after all.

With that, George quickly returned the clock and went out to Dad's shed to find some hair dye. He could have just changed it magically, of course, but he'd rather not take a chance that someone like Mad-Eye or Dumbledore saw through the glamour or if he somehow lost his true hair color forever—cosmetic spells could be finicky like that and Fred was usually the one who cast them. Besides, it was nice to finally have a good excuse to use one of the Muggle products he kept at the shop for people like Dad.

The current Arthur, George knew, probably thought he'd be working in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office until the day he died. Not many people realized how brilliant he was at the job, and Dad liked it that way. Anytime a witch or wizard asked about some Muggle item, Dad had made a point to get his description just a little bit wrong. If they didn't know better, it didn't matter, but if they grew up with Muggles then Arthur would probably learn something new as they tried to correct him. He didn't have all the opportunities that he had while he was still a kid to slack off and immerse himself in Muggle culture-and it changed far too quickly for any working wizard to really keep up with anyway. So Dad was considered an idiot and that just made them underestimate him. The fact that Dad was usually mellow (with the exception of when Percy decided to leave the family) only helped.

George went back inside the house, grabbed the Daily Prophet out of the rubbish bin, and went up the bathroom to apply his new hair job and find a job in the Job Seekers section to apply for.

Most jobs mentioned graduation or exam requirements. There were a couple, however, that conveniently forgot to mention them, instead citing specific spells or other specialized abilities. One job asked for someone to be able to brew the Wolfsbane Potion regularly; George had no idea how to do that, but if he ever did figure it out (after all, potion-based products were integral to Weasley Wizard Wheezes and the only reason he and Fred Trolled that O.W.L. was to completely and utterly avoid ever having to sit another class with Snape again, not lack of ability) he'd try to find a nice ol' werewolf with galleons to spare willing to accept his services. There was also a temporary job to keep a Patronus going to protect wizards visiting convicts in Azkaban, but George decided against it, as it was too depressing and on the off chance that someone might remember his Patronus' form and wonder why the younger George Weasley had it once he learned how. There was also a request for volunteers to help patients in the various wards at St. Mungo's. Although the pay wasn't great—and not everyone would even _get_ paid—George decided it was better than nothing. He could even think of a way or two to help the patients to get better already.

By this time, George was officially the first (chronological) black-haired Weasley and he couldn't believe that he had managed to distract himself from seeing Fred for fifteen whole minutes. He silently went to the bedroom his past self and Fred had shared and opened the door. Fred was lying on the top bunk as usual, snoring happily away. To George's surprise, his young self only made the quiet sounds of breathing as he slept. He'd have to mention that fact next time Percy complained about being unable to sleep through the noise. George touched his twin's sleeping form. Fred stirred at his touch, but he didn't awaken.

_I'm back, Fred_, George thought. _I'll save you, don't you worry about it._

* * *

Once it became an appropriate hour—the sun was up at least—George walked into St. Mungo's with a deliberate air of confidence. "Hello, I'm interested in a job," he said to the secretary.

"What are your credentials?" she asked in a monotone voice. Apparently, she hadn't woken up yet.

"Well, that's the hard bit," George said. "I don't have them—officially, at least. I was kind of too busy to take the exams, with the war and all." He just didn't mention which war he was talking about. "I did pick up on basic treatments and things—I was the best Healer in the group, anyway."

"And why are you looking for work here, Mr.…?"

"Oliver," George said, saying the first name that popped into his mind, though how his thoughts drifted to his old Quidditch coach, he'd never know. "James Oliver. Blood-wise I'm technically a Muggle-born, but Mum tutored me to be a good wizard. I was laid off a little while ago because the customers were put off by the ear, but an injury makes the patients more cooperative, I think, don't you?"

"I rarely interact with patients directly, but maybe you would be interested in interviewing with Healer Dorsi? You may find him in his office on the fourth floor."

"Thank you, Miss," George said with a tip of an imaginary hat as he went upstairs.

He found Healer Dorsi's office door open, so George let himself in. Healer Dorsi, as the secretary said, was there and examining some files. He looked up at George with an air of annoyance. "May I help you?"

"I'm James Oliver, I'm interested in a job," George said brightly.

"Yes, of course you are," Dorsi grumbled. "Why, though, should I trust you to do anything if you're just going to make more work for me sorting everything out?"

_Well, he's certainly a ray of sunshine, isn't he? _George thought to himself. "I'm personally aware of several symptoms of various things and how to treat them."

"Yes, like how you treated that ear of yours?" Healer Dorsi scoffed.

"Do you perform treatments on yourself when you're flying on your broom hundreds of feet in the air while Death Eaters shoot dark curses at you?" George retorted. "Because if you do, I'll be happy to learn what I should do next time."

The healer barked a laugh. "So you didn't get that just doing something stupid, that's nice to know. Well, besides the whole trying to defeat He Who Must Not Be Named, but we didn't know about Harry Potter when Death Eaters took your ear or my leg," he said as he stepped out from behind his desk to show George the wooden one that reminded him of Mad-Eye's. "So what field healing do you have behind you? And be sure to mention any deaths you had on your watch."

"Oh, boy," George said. He hadn't personally healed anyone during the second war, but there were more than enough deaths to regret. "Dumbledore was dead before I knew there was a battle going on."

"Dumbledore?"

"Not the real Dumbledore," George said quickly. "We just called him that because he was old and was the most likely of us to kill Vol—You-Know-Who. A couple months later, we lost a one-eyed man—the eye was long gone before I joined up with them—who died the night I became Your Holeyness. Almost a year later, we lost a lot more: Moony and his wife, our resident spy, my brother—everyone died before I could get to them. I was too busy fighting and I regret it every day."

"But _yours_ was the only injury you treated?" Healer Dorsi asked.

"My brother was able to do that," George said, not wanting to bring Mum into it. "We invented all sorts of weird ways to cause symptoms of various illnesses as kids; we practiced on each other and figured out how to reverse the effects the hard way. The antidote for Nosebleed Nougats was invaluable."

"I'm surprised you didn't try to market it," Healer Dorsi mumbled.

"I couldn't do it," George lied, "not with my brother gone so soon. If I could help around here, though, I might be able to make things up to him."

"Well," Healer Dorsi said, "it sounds like you have a hair's chance of a possibility of knowing what you're talking about. Come back this afternoon and I'll have an informal exam for you. Is there anything besides your ear that is not in good working order?"

Right at that moment, George felt a jolt as he suddenly was back at the Burrow, sitting at a table with Dad, Fred, and Percy.

"Could you pass me the butter, George?" Dad asked.

"He's not George, I am!" Fred said.

"Sorry, Fred."

George looked down at his hands as he grabbed the butter and handed it to his father. He was a lot smaller than he was used to. A quick examination of his ear confirmed it: he was possessing his younger self.

_What in Merlin's name could have triggered that?_ George wondered. _How do I get back to my older body? Why didn't I ask the Trickster what I had to do to become young-me?_

"He's joking, Dad," George said. When Fred gave him a look that said, _now what did you do that for, _he added, "I'm actually Ron. The twins gave me a potion that made me look like them—I think they're planning to turn the whole world into Fred's and George's." Fred smiled. _That's better._

"You've not even started Hogwarts and you're already brewing Polyjuice, boys?" Dad laughed. "I'd tell your Mum, but she'd only tell you off for messing with your younger brother."

"You were right the first time: I'm George."

"Of course you're George," Ron said groggily as he came down the stairs. "What's for breakfast?"

As Percy started to tell him, George jolted back to Healer Dorsi's office.

"What did you say, again?" George asked. He was lying on the floor, so he got back up and tried to act like nothing had happened.

"I asked if there was anything wrong with you," Dorsi said. "If you are narcoleptic, I think that might count."

"I've never been able to control it, but I'm working on it," George said.

"We try to be understanding of ailments here, but if it will interfere with your job…"

"It started quite recently," George said hurriedly, "but I'm confident that I'll figure out a cause very soon."

"For your sake, Mr. Oliver, I hope you are right about that."

George nodded and was jolted back to the Weasley table.

"…okay, George?"

"Okay what?"

"Don't tell me you've already forgotten again?"

"Again?"

"You're really funny, George," Ron said as he rolled his eyes.

"Did it take you this long to figure that out?" Fred asked his youngest brother. "He's the funny looking one and I'm the handsome one."

"Yet somehow _I'll_ be the one who gets married and has two kids," George muttered.

"Only two?" Dad snorted. "You're a Weasley, you need to get going!"

"Arthur, what are you talking to my boys about?" Mum asked as she came to the table with a skillet of sausages.

"Nothing, Molly. They just need to go upstairs and make sure they're all packed so we can get to the train station."

"Thanks, Dad," George said as he grabbed a sausage and went upstairs with Fred.

"What's the matter with you today?" Fred asked.

"I've gotten cynical in my old age," George deadpanned.

"You're not allowed to be old—I'm the old one, remember?" Fred laughed. It was both wonderful and bizarre to hear him laugh again. "But seriously, every time after I drank my pumpkin juice, you changed—like you were suddenly obliviated."

_Fred _drinking pumpkin juice_ is the trigger for me possessing me?_ George wondered. _Honestly, that Trickster needs to get a life._

"Fred, I know you're confused—and honestly, so am I—but I need you to trust me when I say that what's happening is a good thing. Next time you drink pumpkin juice that's probably going to change, but either way, I am still your brother, Fred."

"No, I'm Fred—you're George," Fred joked.

"Let me write a note to myself to remind me," George said as he grabbed a quill and a bit of parchment and forced himself to write slower than normal since young George didn't have all of those essays under his belt to make writing less of a chore and more of a habit.

_Dear George,_

_If I'm right, every time Fred wants some pumpkin juice, I'm going to possess you. I apologize for the inconvenience. I'm going to try and work out a system so that I can do what I need to and you can take the classes you need to take. Since I'm feeling generous, I will try to be the conscious one during History of Magic—trust me, you'll thank me later. Any other agreements will have to be cleared in advance. If you try to abuse our relationship, keep in mind that I have a higher tolerance for pain than you do. I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell Fred about me until I know what to tell him. And don't stop him from drinking pumpkin juice entirely, because that is completely unfair and I will break into Hogwarts and force Scabbers to eat your feet off until you see reason. I'm sorry about all the threats, but I am looking after your best interests._

_Sincerely,_

_The Saintlike One_

"Go get a sip of pumpkin juice—just one—then make me read this," George ordered his twin. "Then, I'd appreciate it if you waited at least one hour before consuming anything, okay?"

"Sure, whatever you say, George."

* * *

Fred watched George as he downed the last of the pumpkin juice. It happened again: George had changed.

"Hey, brother of mine, do you remember what happened in the past couple minutes?" Fred asked.

"No," George said. "What's happening, Fred? This is really starting to scare me."

"You wrote a note to yourself," Fred said as he handed George the folded piece of parchment.

George read it and Fred read over his shoulder, even though he probably shouldn't have. Once Fred finished it, he knew he _really_ shouldn't have. It was worse than he ever could have imagined.

"How did I write this, Fred? I'm being possessed by a lunatic."

"Or maybe you're the lunatic and the version of you that wrote that is the real you," Fred suggested.

"You don't really believe that, do you?" George asked, the terrified look still in his eye, which only made Fred feel worse.

"Nah, that other you was acting too smart to be you," Fred quipped—him being completely serious would only make George feel worse. "The question is whether or not we can trust you like that."

"I'd say you should just never drink pumpkin juice again, but then Scabbers would probably hate you," George replied.

"No, I'll have to bring him back. But I'll do it in front of Dumbledore, who's bound to notice you're getting possessed by this Saintlike guy whenever I have pumpkin juice."

"Let's just hope that Mr. Holy isn't actually Dumbledore."

"If Dumbledore's possessing me, then all I'll have to do is tell Mum and she'll make what happened to your left buttock look like a birthday party."

"That was Dad's doing, not Mum," Fred retorted.

"And _that_ was the only reason she didn't do something even worse."

* * *

George returned to Healer Dorsi's office once more. "Yep, I've definitely have some theories of how to control my narcolepsy. If I ever fall into a coma for more than a few days, then you guys have permission to worry about me."

"You make theories while you're asleep?"

"Dreams are the most creative parts of ourselves," George replied cryptically.

"I would much rather share war stories than listen to narcoleptic dreams. I still don't know if hiring you is worth it."

"I'll inform you of my progress when there is some. Thank you, Healer Dorsi."

"Don't thank me before I deserve it."

* * *

Fred placed a vial of pumpkin juice in his pocket right before grabbing his trunk and heading out the door to the Ford Anglia Dad had fixed up. Fred kept closer to George than usual, wary of any change that might come over him, even if he didn't drink any pumpkin juice.

_Why did it have to be George who gets possessed in the most insane way possible? Percy's the one who needs some insanity in his life, not my other half._

In one part of his mind, however, Fred couldn't discount the possibility that George was pranking him. He had no idea what would provoke George into doing such a thing, but Fred didn't know his twin with perfect exactness any more than he knew everything about himself—he knew more than practically anyone, but there were still plenty of surprises in life.

"Alright, kiddos!" Dad said as he got in the car, "Did we forget anything?"

"We forgot Bill!" George said, though not as quickly as he normally would have. _Is he slower because he's the Saintlike One again?_ Fred's internal paranoia asked. He met eyes with his twin and saw a strained smile forced on him. _No, he's just terrified of what might happen to him._

"Where's Bill, Arthur?" Mum said worriedly. "I haven't seen him all day!"

"He graduated last year," Charlie said. "Fred is just having you on."

"Oi! I'm Fred!" Fred said, but only because he had to. He doubted anyone besides George would ever be able to identify him reliably, and that was probably just because there was only one for him to worry about.

"Sorry, Fred," Mum said.

"If the only thing we're missing is Bill," Dad said, "then we need to get you guys off to Hogwarts."

The journey was the quietest one Fred could remember. Charlie was talking to Mum and Dad about dragons, Ron was picking on Ginny, but Fred and George didn't say a word. Percy was the only one who seemed to notice.

"What is wrong with you two? You better not be planning anything funny."

Fred couldn't think of a retort quick enough to that and neither could George.

"You aren't worried that you won't make it into Gryffindor, are you?" Percy asked. "Do you have any idea how long it's been since a Weasley or Prewett failed to get in? You have to count Blacks who married into the family for about three generations before you get to a blood Weasley, and he isn't even on our direct line! The Sorting Hat simply identified me as a Weasley and tossed me into Gryffindor in less than five seconds. You'll both be fine."

Fred and George exchanged glances. It was best that no one find out what was going on with George before Dumbledore could look at it, so the right thing to do was let Percy believe his ridiculous assumption to be true.

"Thanks, Perce," they said at the same time.

"At least I know you aren't planning to shrink my…" Percy trailed off, then shook his head. "Never mind, I shouldn't give either of you ideas."


	3. Chapter 3

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, who isn't me. The only profit I get from this is personal satisfaction.

* * *

Occupational Hazard

* * *

George decided to poke around the Magical Injuries Recovery Ward and refresh what medical knowledge he had. The patients were anything but pretty, but George had seen far worse during the Battle of Hogwarts. He stopped next to a young man who looked like his insides had been turned out before being given first aid and placed in the ward. Unexpectedly, he was still conscious.

"What's your story?" George asked.

"Why would I tell you?" the man groaned.

"I'm willing to trade," George said as he pointed to his ear.

The man considered it for a moment. "You first."

And so, George related a thoroughly edited version of what happened to his ear during the Battle of the Seven Potters. The man may have been disgusted, but his pride wouldn't allow him to show any emotion other than interest or disinterest in the gory details.

"Now it's your turn," George said.

"I never said I would."

"I don't care if it's embarrassing—the ear is probably the only non-embarrassing mishap in my life. My brother and I once tried to trick someone into believing we we're seventeen and we both managed to look like ugly old men by the end of it. Before that—or was it after? Anyway, we kept playing with these telescopes that would punch you in the eye and for some reason we couldn't figure out that it wasn't a good idea. I can keep giving you more until you're ready to share what happened to you."

The young man sighed. "Fine, I'll tell you. This," he said as he gestured to his torso, "is what happens when the location you try to Apparate to is already occupied by a Blast-Ended Skrewt. It gets its nasty toxins all over and inside of you and trying to Apparate away will only mean forgetting to bring your guts with you. At least the Skrewt probably had a bad day too."

"Any day that a Skrewt is made to feel dissatisfaction is a good one in my book," George replied. "I hope someone put dittany on this or you're not going to be feeling too good tomorrow. Or now, for that matter."

"The healers aren't total morons," the man replied. "You don't secretly work here, do you?"

"If I'm lucky, I will soon," George replied. "If not, I can try to come visit anyway unless I fall into a coma that I can't get out of."

"Isn't that the definition of a coma?" the man asked.

"Normally I'd say yes," George replied, "but I fell into a coma twice today and I haven't even had lunch yet. All I need is a little drink and I'm fine—the trick is that I'm not the one who has to ingest it."

"Has anyone ever told you that you were an odd duck?"

George considered the question. "I can't remember any specific instances, but I'm certain that it has happened, yes."

"Well, good luck with getting the job. Merlin knows that we could use a few more odd ducks around here."

George took that as opportunity to get to know some of the other patients. Most of them were left with the feeling that "James Oliver" was crazy, but only a man who was probably a former Death Eater openly disliked him and that suited George fine. Healer Dorsi showed his face, finally, as George talked to a newly bitten werewolf.

"Mr. Oliver, are you ready for your exam?"

"Do your worst."

It started as a quiz for symptoms of various injuries and maladies and how to treat them. When the healer got to spattergroit and Fred recommended having them put a frog liver on their throat and stand in a barrel of eel eyes during the full moon, then the healer began to show real doubt in George. He tried to restore the healer's confidence, but it was already gone.

"I'm not going to get the job, am I?" George asked when the examination concluded.

"Not now," Healer Dorsi replied. "Maybe after you do some serious study instead of working from heresy and old wives tales."

"In my defense, the spattergroit cure came from one of the paintings here. I never got the chance to check its accuracy, but advice from a hospital is surely likely to be correct, isn't it?"

Healer Dorsi sighed. "Don't get advice from the paintings again—they haven't kept up with any developments since they were painted and are less accurate than what old pureblood biddies recommend. But still, you should do a bit more reading before I trusted you with a payable position. You may do volunteer work in the meantime, but you won't be trusted with crucial operations until you are employed."

"And since I'm not currently employed anywhere, I should be spending my time looking for another job instead of helping out here," George sighed. "Thanks for the offer, though—as soon as I get some stability, I'm sure to become a familiar face."

Healer Dorsi nodded and George went to go find some other job that would take him. He went into every shop on Diagon Alley, but none would have him. He decided that, even though it was completely disreputable, he might as well continue onto Knockturn Alley. Luckily—or perhaps unluckily—the first person he came across was none other than Mundungus Fletcher.

"Dung!" he blurted out without thinking.

"Do I know you?"

George's mind raced. If Mundungus could help George get situated, it would work better if the dirty little thief believed that George was an old acquaintance. "I'll never forgive myself for letting you get 300 kilos of Floo Powder out from under the Ministry's noses. I could have used that."

"Is that you under that face, Charlemagne? Boy, I haven't seen you in over ten years, it must be. Where have you been all this time?"

"Getting into trouble, what did you think?" George smirked. Charlemagne was a thief/con man/smuggler that Mundungus had told George stories about back during the old timeline—how he was Dung's first partner in the magical underworld who fell off the face of the earth the year Fred and George were born. George didn't know everything about Charlemagne, of course, but he probably knew enough to pass as him. "I finally decided to just wipe the slate clean and start over. James Oliver is the name now."

"You aren't seriously going to honest, are you?" Mundungus asked.

"I managed to delude myself into thinking that it might be possible, but there's the peculiar fact that employers expect you to be able to provide a history—and short of forgery, I've got nothing."

Mundungus snorted. "You always did have trouble making papers. I'd be happy to provide you with what you need, though it'll require something of you, of course."

"Name your price, Dung."

"Seeing as you're a newcomer—or everyone thinks you are—I'd like to have you become friends with ol' Aberforth so he's more likely to be lenient on a fellow he likes, and once he's in your pocket, you become my face in the Hog's Head."

"I know you, Dung," George said. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Aberforth is just like his brother—he's likely to see through the glamour you've put yourself under…and why are you grinning like a Cheshire cat?"

That only made George grin wider. "I just so happen to be one hundred percent glamour-free," George replied.

"How in Merlin's name did you manage that?"

"Now really, Dung, did you expect me to just tell you all of my secrets?" George asked with a wicked smile. "Let me just say that it is not recommended unless the pointy end of the wand is starting to look lovely, if you catch my meaning—and most of the time, not even then. But besides a glamour-failure that ain't happening, what else do I need to worry about?"

"Besides what Aberforth will do if he ever finds out who you really are? You'll have to find out on your own."

They spent the next several minutes going over the details for George's fake paperwork. Fortunately, Dung sensed nothing amiss about George's behavior. Apparently Charlemagne really was that good at stepping into a role so that even his body language became unfamiliar.

"Spare me a couple sickles for the Butterbeer, would you?" George asked when they were done.

Dung gave him a funny look. "What happened to your pocket change?"

"Long story," George sighed. He knew that meant he had to think of a long story to tell the scalawag later, but it was better to have a long story without a bunch of holes in it than a quick one that was bound to fall apart sooner or later.

"Well, only this once, but you owe me," Mundungus said as he handed over a pair of dirt-crusted sickles. George wondered how Dung managed to get the Goblin-made silver dirty before he realized they were counterfeit.

"Real coin, Dung. I'm trying to be legitimate, remember?"

"Just making sure you haven't gone completely soft in the head," Mundungus replied as he swapped the fake coins for real ones. George tested the coins, found them satisfactory, and Apparated to the Hog's Head.

* * *

The pub was exactly as it was when George saw it last, in nearly thirty years. It was fairly early in the night so there weren't many patrons there yet. George sat down at a table and performed transfiguration charms on the candle stubs to make them flowers the color of the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes uniform. Aberforth quickly noticed George's actions and put a stop to it.

"I have too few candles as it is," the old wizard grunted.

"Sorry, I thought that this place could use a little livening up," George replied.

"You're new around here. I take it."

"I've spent too much time outside of magical civilization," George lied—this time he'd actually prepared a story in advance. "Mum was ridiculously overprotective of me to the point of not even letting me attend Hogwarts. Before I lost her, the most wizards I interacted with at once was a group of freedom-fighting Muggle-born we ran into during the war, and they didn't cover proper etiquette. I apologize, good sir."

Aberforth snorted. "On-the-run etiquette works pretty well at the Hog's Head, for the most part—including the part where you don't mess with things that don't belong to you."

"Good to know."

"What have you spent the last eight years of peace doing, if you don't mind me asking?" Aberforth asked. George knew he was probably fishing for information, not merely making small talk—though whether the Dumbledore who was the professor was going to hear about it, George didn't know.

"I thought Muggle society would be a better fit for me," George said. "Big mistake—I'm a rubbish investor. All I know that could save me now is reintegrating with the magical community. Unfortunately, I was a tad busy evading Death Eaters during the OWL and NEWT years and I never got around to taking them."

"How old are you?"

George quickly did the math in his head. "Twenty-eight," he replied, using his age when Voldemort fell a second time to coincide with the end of the first war. "I know I look older than that, but these added years are nothing—a man I knew died when he was less than forty but looked like he was in his mid-sixties. Stress is a harsh mistress, though I still think one of the stupid things my brother and I did as children may have helped."

"Well, not that you aren't a fascinating young man, but I have a business to run," Aberforth said.

George placed his sickles on the table. "One Butterbeer, please. And a water glass."

"Cowardly pansy, are you going to water down perfectly good Butterbeer? It's not even going to get you drunk unless you're a house-elf or have a barrel-full!"

"I was hoping to find and talk to someone who could get me employed, and as I only have the money for one Butterbeer, I need to make it last."

Aberforth sighed as he got George what he requested. "You'd be better off making friends over at the Three Broomsticks. You fly much too straight for the crowd we usually attract here."

"I've given the straight route my best shot and I keep falling short of the target. I just don't have the skill set for anything. Maybe I can find my true calling here."

Aberforth gave a noncommittal grunt and went off to take care of the other customers.

George took a sip of his watered down Butterbeer and went to sit next to a man he knew for a fact was a Death Eater, though the name didn't spring immediately to mind.

"Hello, stranger," George said. "Do you mind if I sit with you?"

"Do what you like," the Death Eater replied.

George wasn't expecting a Death Eater to let a complete unknown sit by him, but he figured that since James Oliver wouldn't know he was associating with one of the bad guys, he had to act as naive as he was pretending to be.

"Thanks!" George said as he shook the Death Eater's hand. "I'm James Oliver. What do you do for a living?"

"I exterminate dangerous creatures."

"Sounds like fun! Do you need an apprentice?"

"No. And if the Ministry ever finds that I am in need of one, they will have to assign the bloke to me without my consent."

"Oh, you work for the Ministry? What brings you out to Hogsmeade, then?"

"Nostalgia," the Death Eater replied without another word.

"Oh, you went to Hogwarts? I never did, but I hear things were always interesting. Is it true that dragons guard the entrance? Is the Defence position really jinxed? Does Dumbledore really use Legilimency on all of the students and staff?"

"Yes, no, probably, and I don't know."

George added up the questions in his head. "I thought I only asked you three questions."

"The yes was to whether I attended Hogwarts."

George laughed. "And here I thought there were dragons at Hogwarts. Right shame that the students can't have that as a threat to keep them in line. Have you ever got to fight one of them, for your job?"

"Not yet and I hope I never will. Dragonology is a little too much of a death wish for my tastes. My contract says I have to get a large bonus if I ever face any of the ten XXXXX creatures. Let the reckless youngsters who fancy themselves experts deal with those."

"Well, I'm younger than I look and even younger at heart. Maybe I can join one of the reservations." With a little luck and a lot of irony, he might even get on Charlie's team before he did.

"You're on a job hunt, I take it?"

"Right you are," George said. "If you hear about any positions open for an informally educated wizard like myself, could you pass word onto me?"

"We'll see," the Death Eater replied.

The pub door opened. Three greasy-haired men came in, all swaggering like they owned the place. The greasiest of them spoke first. "Hey, Macnair. Who's your new friend?"

"You still claiming that you were under the Imperius Curse?" another asked.

The Death Eater—Macnair, if the greasy git was right—swore under his breath. "Gryffindors."

"Go bother someone else," George said. He was all for roughing up a Slytherin in most circumstances, but James Oliver had no such biases and was far more likely to side with his new drinking companion.

"Did you know that you're drinking with one of You-Know-Who's followers? Sure, he claims that he was under the Imperius now, but it's obviously a lie. You turn your back on magical Britain just by being near him!"

George stood so that the greasy gits got a clear view of his ear—or his lack of one, anyway. "I spent my time in the war fighting Death Eaters. I was lucky—I only lost an ear. My brother was killed by Death Eaters. What did you do?" He waited for an answer and got none. "I thought so. Do you really think I would voluntarily talk to a Death Eater? I'd like to think I'm a better judge of character than that."

"Then you're a fool," the greasiest git said as he pulled out his wand. Without even thinking, George pulled out his own and cast a silent shield charm. The man's jinx ricocheted off the shield onto the man who stood next to him. He turned his head to look at his comrade and George sent out a pair of stunners at him and the other git still standing. For good measure, he stunned the one hit by what George recognized to be a ricocheted jelly-legs jinx, of all things.

"How do people graduate from Hogwarts so incapable of defending themselves?" George lamented as he levitated the three unconscious wizards out onto the street.

"You aren't half bad," Macnair noticed.

"I had to be," George replied. "You had better not be an actual Death Eater, by the way, or I'll have to come and find you."

"I was under the Imperius curse," Macnair lied simply.

"So I gathered. I've been under the curse too and it is _insanely_ difficult to throw off. But if you ever decide to support any future Dark Lords, I am ethically obligated to come euthanize you."

"I'll stick to killing dark creatures, I promise," Macnair replied. George hoped against hope that Macnair would keep that promise.

Aberforth came over to the table. "As I rule, I don't permit any sort of fighting in my pub, dueling included."

"Sorry, sir," George replied.

"I saw the whole thing, it was self-defense," Aberforth said with a wave of his hand. "What I'd like to know is if you're always so quick on the uptake."

"War reflexes never go away," George replied.

"I can see that. How would you like a job working here and making sure the fights stay outside where they belong?"

"Really?" George asked.

Aberforth nodded. "You were a quicker draw than me, which is saying something. The pay won't be great, but you'll have a bed and you can forage through whatever food that doesn't get eaten by the end of the night."

"How can I refuse?" George asked. "Although you should be aware that I have a bit of a narcolepsy problem."

"So do half the patrons who drink here," Aberforth smirked. "We'll talk if it becomes a problem, but I'm getting old and I need someone who I can trust to run this place as well as it always has. I have a feeling that you're it."

"Wow. Thanks for the vote of confidence. When can I move in?"

"Let's see how you connect with the other patrons first. We'll talk sometime after two or three."


	4. Chapter 4

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, who isn't me. The only profit I get from this is personal satisfaction.

* * *

Spoiled Dinner

* * *

The journey to the train and Hogwarts passed without incident. A thin old woman who identified herself as Professor McGonagall led the first-years to the Great Hall. Fred quickly looked for Dumbledore, but there was no opportunity to go talk to him about George's problem. The Sorting Hat that Percy mentioned earlier sang a song and began sorting students and Fred looked for a way to get Dumbledore's attention and no one else's. When Professor McGonagall called, "Weasley, Fred," he knew it was too late. He squeezed his twin's hand and went under the hat.

_"I can see you're troubled, young Weasley,"_ the hat said. _"Do you need to talk about your twin's predicament?"_

"How do you know that?" Fred asked.

_"If you were listening, you'd know that I was reading your mind. If it makes you feel better, you can try to trigger your brother's intruder when I Sort him so I may assist Dumbledore in finding a remedy."_

"You'd do that?"

_"I'd get bored if all I did was Sort once a year."_

"Then I'll do it," Fred promised.

_"Then get out your pumpkin juice and go to GRYFFINDOR!"_

Fred smiled and went to the Gryffindor table, between Charlie and Percy. He heard the professor call George's name and he unscrewed the top of his pumpkin juice vial. As the hat touched George's head, Fred downed the vial.

* * *

George was yanked into his younger self's body. To his surprise, he was sitting at the front of the Great Hall and he felt something on his head.

_You've got to be kidding me—the Sorting ceremony?_

_"This is the strangest thing I've seen in at least four centuries. Who are you, intruder?"_

"I'm George Weasley," George replied.

_"Nice try, but I saw thoughts from both Weasley twins before you arrived. You most certainly are not him."_

"Can't you read my mind and figure it out?" George asked.

_"I only can see what is written on a child's brain as I'm on it. Your presence only affects surface thoughts, which I cannot trust you to be honest about."_

"Well, even if you can't read my motives, you still have a job to do."

_"Of course I would sort young Mr. Weasley into Gryffindor, but your presence changes things."_

"What do _I_ have to do with anything?"

_"Judging by how quickly you were able to enter Mr. Weasley's mind and already be able to mimic his mental timbre—not good enough to fool me, but I doubt that it'll be long before you can—then I must alert the student body to the possibility that you are not as Saintlike as you'd let them believe. I'll have to put George in Slytherin for his own good."_

"The Weasleys will disown him if you do that!"

_"Fred Weasley, at the very least, will understand. Any other estrangement will build character."_

"You aren't a very nice hat."

_"Ever since a certain Muggle-raised kid questioned me as to whether I was fully conscious in the sense of being aware of my own awareness I've been a lot more cynical,"_ the Sorting Hat admitted. _"I've accumulated all this brain power and have and I now know exactly how little I am able to do with it."_

"I'll be sure to consult you regularly when helping Harry kill Voldemort in a couple years," George promised.

_"That is a most interesting promise. One that, to me, seems rather… SLYTHERIN!"_

George cursed himself as McGonagall took up the hat. _Right, most people here think Voldemort is already dead—and even those who believe he'll return don't realize Harry's the Chosen One, given that he's_ nine. He looked over at his brothers who were all utterly shocked. In fact, most of the Great Hall seemed to be shocked that a Weasley—who for all intents and purposes was identical to the Fred who was just Sorted into Gryffindor with hardly any trouble at all—was Sorted into Slytherin.

Well, if Mum was going to kill him anyway, he might as well make things interesting. He stood to address the students. "I'm sure you're wondering what just happened between the Sorting Hat and myself. I can't tell you much, but the Hat thinks I might be overcome by my super-powered, possibly dark side. It decided that the best way to become a Dark Lord was to let my Dark Side crush the families of those who may or may not have served the previous one. And when I'm Dark Lord, I'll have the Minister of Magic ban Mondays, throw freeing house-elf parties, make having more than ten toes an imprisonable offense, and I'll give Muggles candy while riding my pet basilisk, Blinky. If you have any requests for my Dark Side, please see your Heads of House and not me as I'm 11 years old and I still don't know which end of a wand to hold. Thank you."

"That will be all, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall said as she gave him a good nudge off the podium. "Now if you please, would you go join your fellow Slytherins?"

"Sure thing, Professor," George replied as he skipped down to sit next to Marcus Flint—he'd be crazy of he didn't try out for Quidditch, even if he wouldn't be on the same team as Fred.

"Sit somewhere else, Weasel," Flint said.

"Do you really want to cross the evilest Weasley in the history of ever? I'd rather work on my evil plans with Fred right now, but I thought you'd might be interested in getting a Beater who has Bludgers for breakfast."

"Well, since Heathcote has started losing interest in the world's greatest game for the guitar of all things, the captain just might consider it. Who isn't me, by the way, so go bother Iris Carrow."

Flint pointed down the table at a sixth- or seventh-year brunette girl who seemed to be fascinated by the book she was reading_—Quidditch Through the Ages_—and wasn't listening to Dumbledore as he rattled on about rules no one except the suck-ups followed.

"Since I'm sure we're all rather hungry, we'll save the school song for some other time and the few words I will say are these: Bouffant. Galoshes. Macadamia. Shindig."

The feast began and George went to, but did not sit down next to, Iris Carrow.

"What do you want, blood traitor?" she asked after a quick glance up from her book before returning it.

"I'm not a blood traitor—I'm still a Weasley and Percy will defect long before I do. As for why I'm here, I wanted to offer my services on the Quidditch field as a Beater."

"Try out like the rest of them," she advised. "Impress me, then we'll talk."

With that, George decided that unless he wanted to stuff someone named Montague in the Vanishing Cabinet six years early, he had nothing more to do with the Slytherins so he went over to the Gryffindor table and sat between Fred and Percy.

"What did you do, George?" Percy asked.

"I didn't do anything; the Sorting Hat thought I had a higher chance of being evil than Fred. Although if someone wants to believe that I gave me and Fred a good excuse to prank the Slytherins in their dormitories, I'll not contradict them."

Fred smiled. "Now that is a noble goal that I will drink to."

"Before you do," George said before the goblet got to Fred's mouth, "I'd like it widely known that I consider myself to be a Gryffindor and I'd rather everyone act like I am."

"You're an odd saint," Fred said as he downed some pumpkin juice."

* * *

Fred only noticed the change in George because he was watching for it.

"I'm in Gryffindor, right?" George asked.

"Sure are!" Charlie said with a cheesy grin. George laughed in relief. Fred wasn't sure how he was going to break it to his twin that he was Sorted into Slytherin because of the Saintlike One, but if the possessor was right, now both Fred and George could access the Slytherin and Gryffindor dorms. That was definitely a positive thing from a pranking perspective and although it was probably just the possessor's excuse, the Saintlike One probably wasn't completely evil. A Slytherin-tormentor couldn't be all bad, right?

Fred dropped something under the table and as he went to pick it up, he gave a tug on George's robes to get him under there with him.

"George, when we go to the dorms, I'm going to go somewhere else in the castle to see if we can get a meeting with Dumbledore. You say you're me if anyone asks and I'll try to get you when I can."

"What aren't you telling me? What happened when I blacked out?"

"George, you know you can trust me. I'm just looking out for you like a good older brother should."

"Minutes, Fred, that's all they were," George replied with a smile. _That's the brother I know and love_, Fred thought as he returned the grin_._

The two came out from under the table so that George was next to Charlie this time and Fred was able to get in the way if Percy insisted upon speaking truthfully about George's Sorting.

Fred enjoyed himself, more or less, for the rest of the feast, though he always drank his pumpkin juice in even numbers to make sure it was his brother with him and not the mostly evil saint.


	5. Chapter 5

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, who isn't me. The only profit I get from this is personal satisfaction.

* * *

Expert Opinions

* * *

When the feast concluded, Fred got up from the Gryffindor table. "I guess I'd better find out what the Slytherins are up to. Fred, you keep me posted on Gryffindor's status, okay?"

"Sure, George," George replied. The ease with which they could switch identities was probably one of the reasons no one could tell them apart.

"Charlie, you're in charge of making sure he doesn't do anything stupid while I'm gone."

"You just make sure the Slytherins don't give you any trouble," the red-headed prefect replied. "When you want to come say hi, find the Grand Staircase and take it up to the seventh floor and then ask a painting how to get to the Fat Lady's corridor—it's faster that way."

Fred nodded, and left the Great Hall to follow the Slytherins. The Slytherin prefect led them all down to the dungeons and stopped in front of a wall.

"All you first years, listen up! You do not speak of this to any of the other houses. To get into the Slytherin common room, the password is 'True Nobility.' This password is subject to change without notice, at a minimum of once every two weeks. You forget what the password is, you'd better hope the other prefects like you, or you'll be sleeping out here."

The group walked into the common room, which had a greenish hue on everything that wasn't black and skulls and snakes decorating the floors and walls.

"Where do I get a Death Eater outfit?" Fred asked to no one in particular.

"That's enough out of you, Weasley," the prefect snapped. "Girls dorms on the left, boys on the right. Your trunks have already been taken to your rooms. Beds are first come first serve. If you need any help with anything else this evening, I'll be on the couch over here," she said as she sat down by the fireplace. "Now off with you. Oh, I _hate_ the barmy first years…"

Fred followed the other students to the dorm and found George's trunk at the bottom of a pile of luggage. Instead of waiting for the others to move their junk, Fred decided to go find Dumbledore's office so he could get the old wizard's help with fixing George.

He snuck out of the common room—fortunately the prefect was engrossed in what appeared to be a girly novel, so she didn't even notice he was there—and headed towards the staircase that would get him closer to the Great Hall. On the way, he passed several paintings and one of them asked, "Are you lost, young one?"

"Maybe," Fred replied. "I'm looking for both Dumbledore's office and the Gryffindor common room."

"Try the seventh floor. The Grand Staircase generally doesn't move unless you are moving too fast for its tastes, so just follow this hall and take the next couple of lefts and then a right. I bid thee good luck."

Fred managed to get to the seventh floor without much trouble, found out where Dumbledore's office was, and arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady after only two more missed turns.

"Password?" she asked.

"I forgot," Fred said.

"Then you will be out here for a long time, young Gryffindor," the Fat Lady replied.

"Come on," Fred complained, "it's the first night and I'm deaf in one ear and I couldn't really hear what the prefect said the password was."

"I will make an exception just once—and only once, Mr. Weasley—because this is your first night here. Please ask one of the other students for the password before you head out to explore the castle next time."

"Well, I wanted to show my brother something as soon as possible so I expect you'll be seeing me again soon," Fred replied. "And if _he_ doesn't know the password, I'll learn Mum's infamous Bat Bogey Hex first thing and practice on him."

"You youngsters, always so violent…" the Fat Lady lamented as she let Fred in.

"George? What are you doing here?" Percy asked.

"I forgot that I'm Fred. I need to show George where he'll be sleeping."

Percy sighed and pointed Fred up to the dormitories. George had already taken out most of Fred's things and arranged them around one of the poster beds.

"It took you long enough," George complained. "George, this is Lee Jordan." The boy was dark-skinned and had dreadlocks. Fred also suspected that Lee's mouth would never contort to a form that was not a type of smile.

"So you're the crazy kid who's going to be torturing Slytherin House this year?" Lee asked. "I wish you well in that quest, though I must find out what happened under that hat someday."

"I think the Sorting Hat finally reached the stage where it's old and senile and it forgot how to do its job," Fred replied. "Fred, do you want to pay the hat a visit and give it a piece of our mind?"

"Our mind agrees with itself," George replied. Lee rolled his eyes, but didn't seem to actually be bothered by Fred and George's unusual personalities. He just seemed like he enjoyed a good joke. Fred thought this Lee Jordan could become his new best friend if something got rid of George forever, then scolded himself for even thinking such a thing. George was going to be okay—he _had_ to.

* * *

The twin boys went to the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office. "Do you know the password?" George asked.

"I may have forgotten that part," Fred admitted. But, since it couldn't hurt to ask, he said to the gargoyle, "Can we come see Professor Dumbledore? It's important."

The gargoyle tilted its head at them, but ultimately hopped out of the way to let the twin boys up to the Headmaster's office. If asking for passwords was all you had to do, there was definitely a humongous hole in Hogwarts security. Fred strongly suspected he was getting first-day special treatment, so he should milk it for all it was worth.

"Misters Weasley, I had a feeling that I would be seeing you," the elderly wizard said as Fred and George entered the room. There were weird doodads all over the place and Fred would have to take a good look at them all someday and see if any were fragile. Not today, though. "I never thought I'd see a Weasley in Slytherin, but the Sorting Hat assures me that it had a good reason."

"What?" George asked. "We're not in Slytherin! Unless… Fred! Why didn't you tell me?"

"I would have thought you'd be aware of what house you were in, especially after that interesting speech which you gave," Dumbledore said.

"I gave a speech and no one told me?" George cried.

"I was hoping Dumbledore could fix your problem and that you could be re-Sorted before you found out," Fred stammered. "I know that makes no sense when you say it out loud, but…"

"What is your 'problem'?" Dumbledore asked. "The Sorting Hat believes it would color my perception if it told me outright, but besides amnesia, I am not sure what is happening here."

"I need some pumpkin juice," Fred said. The Headmaster opened a drawer and took out a bottle and glass.

"Sorry about this, George," Fred said as he poured his glass and drunk.

* * *

George blinked. He was in the Headmaster's office and Fred and Dumbledore were looking at him like he was about to explode. Or become possessed.

"So, you two went to Dumbledore," George cursed under his breath. "Of course, you did."

"How curious," the Headmaster said. "Am I correct in assuming that you in fact are not George Weasley?"

"I'm George Weasley, alright."

"He's lying," Fred said. "He wrote a letter to George where he called himself the Saintlike One."

"I'm not lying," George retorted. "What I said was correct from a certain point of view." Hermione of all people had once got all the Weasleys to sit down and watch _Star Wars_. Ever since, it was quoted on a daily basis by _someone_ with red hair. _And if Dumbledore recognizes that quote, then he gets bonus beans._

"Why, precisely, have you chosen to torment young Mr. Weasley, Saintlike One?" Dumbledore asked.

"That's my own business, I think," George replied. "I don't really know how this all is being accomplished—I was offered an opportunity to possess a certain eleven-year-old kid and I accepted it. My reasons for doing so do not conflict with any plans you have, to my knowledge. I fully intend to keep young Harry Potter safe after he starts Hogwarts in a couple years—I'd make an Unbreakable Vow if it puts your mind at ease."

"I cannot trust any magical manifestations that come from the body and magic of young Mr. Weasley to necessarily apply to you," Dumbledore replied.

"What if I send you my Patronus when I return to my real body? I haven't cast it in years, but I think I can still do it." Losing Fred had meant losing the ability to cast one, but now that Fred was alive again, George could be seriously happy again.

"You have your own body?" Dumbledore asked. "That is not a normal possession trait."

"Is possession ever normal?" George retorted. "I'm, to the best of my knowledge, neither a singular nor a group of ghosts, poltergeists, Legilimens, or Horcruxes, at least. I've been led to believe that the bond between young George Weasley and myself is as natural as one such as this _can_ be and I believe we can attain mutualism over time."

"I would like to take you at your word," Dumbledore said, "but I would like to meet your other self in person, to ascertain this for myself."

"There are things I have seen that are not for your mind," George said quietly. He figured it was a bad idea to even hint to the universe about his time travel—and even if it didn't notice or care, there was no way that Dumbledore would find out before Fred did and Fred wasn't ready for the truth just yet.

"Do you realize that you're talking to the world's greatest wizard?" Fred asked George. "He lived through Grindelwald's war and managed to stop him!"

_I need something that'll keep him from prodding…_ George thought. He had an idea. "I know what happened to Ariana," he lied. Harry had said it was Dumbledore's greatest fear to know who had really killed his sister. With luck, the old man would be deterred.

"Gellert?" the Headmaster whispered. "Or Aberforth? Which one are you?"

"Neither. I know of no Dark Lords who are up for anything right now and I'm confident that you are aware that your brother's Patronus is a goat. As for mine, Expecto Patronum," George said, calling up the memory of when he and Fred had dropped out of school. A raccoon emerged from George's wand, not quite as bright as it once was, but it still made his point. "At the very least, you can be sure my heart is pure enough to repel a Dementor. I'll send it to you again after Fred takes another sip of pumpkin juice."

Fred took that as his cue to send George back to his older self's body. George's soul recovered quickly from the transfer—that seemed to be getting progressively less annoying—and he grabbed his wand and, after pausing a moment in case Dumbledore was trying to figure out where he was judging by the time it took for his Patronus to reach the Headmaster, he said, "Expecto Patronum!" The raccoon headed for Hogwarts.

* * *

"George, are you okay in there?" Fred asked.

"I say I am, but what if the Saintlike One is pretending to be me? That's bound to happen sooner or later."

"Your possessor seems a frank fellow," Dumbledore said. "Either he is the cleverest Slytherin I've seen in almost fifty years or he is genuine."

"Well, the Sorting Hat voted for Slytherin," Fred said.

"Actually, I have only put young Mr. Weasley in Slytherin so that the other students do not take him at face value," the Sorting Hat said from a high shelf. "I have even less of an idea of the intruder's true character than you do."

"You threw me into Slytherin based on a _guess_ about the guy in my head?" George cried.

"I never place a student into Slytherin lightly," the Sorting Hat replied. "You will be able to handle it."

The white raccoon the Saintlike One had produced earlier came into the room and climbed onto Fred's shoulder. George attacked it crying, "what _is_ that thing?"

"It's a corporeal Patronus," Dumbledore explained as the raccoon dissipated. "Your possessor produced it after leaving you. Patronuses are made of positive emotion and no true Death Eater can produce one. There exist, however, very unpleasant individuals who are capable of the charm, so your possessor may still have malicious goals in my mind."

"He told me he wanted to 'help Harry Potter kill Voldemort in a couple of years,'" the Sorting Hat said.

"Young Mr. Potter certainly has a grand destiny ahead of him and he may indeed face Voldemort again," Dumbledore mused. "But is it this parasite's desire to gain influence over Harry?"

"Don't forget that he mentioned Horcruxes!" the hat called out.

"What's that?" George asked.

"It's a very dark piece of magic that I suspect Voldemort of creating. Do not research it—only evil can come of it. The Sorting Hat should have waited until you were gone until it reminded me about it."

"Well _excuse_ me for keeping the children in the loop," the Sorting Hat huffed. "They should tell you if they hear the intruder talking about it again."

"Even so," Dumbledore as he turned back towards Fred and George, "both of you boys should run back to your dormitories."

"But I'm in Slytherin," George lamented.

"True," Dumbledore said, "and although it would attract far too much unwanted attention to re-Sort you, I am confident that the Fat Lady and Salazar's wall can forget who they have jurisdiction over, as long as the correct bed is occupied at the end of the night. Claim Spontaneous Duplication if anyone gives you trouble."

"Thank you professor," Fred and George both said and they went down the stairs to the gargoyle.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore briefly touched the minds of each Weasley twin as they left. They were so similar that the Headmaster had no doubt that both should have been in Gryffindor. George Weasley's parasite, however, felt very similar as well, though with more undertones of darkness.

"So," said the Sorting Hat said, "what is your plan?"

_When did you become my advisor?_ Dumbledore wondered. _I thought Severus had that job. _"I need to find the other body of the parasite. Once I do, then I can figure out his intentions. His magic is too unfamiliar for him to be a student here previously, so I'll have to figure out where he learned magic."

"Not to sound contrary, but his first thought under me was him understanding exactly where he was and what was going on," the hat said. "He's familiar with this place and it is entirely possible that he was a student before you became a professor. I have no idea which student it could have been, but my exposure to the children _is_ rather limited."

"If you weren't Sorting based on paranoia, where do you think the possessor would be?"

"I have no idea. If you ever corner him, let me have a look at his head, would you?"

"Unfortunately, if this man is as much of a meddler as I think he is, I doubt he will give me the opportunity."

"Meddling is no crime," the Sorting Hat said. "_You_ do it all the time."

"I'm the only meddler I know who hasn't fallen to darkness yet," Dumbledore lamented.

"I'm sure that you are far too old to fall to the dark side without a very strong push."

"Thank you for that vote of confidence," Dumbledore said, "but I cannot but think that little good can come from leaving an eleven-year-old boy possessed at Hogwarts."

"As far as we know, this is a very limited form of possession that is controlled by the person George Weasley trusts the most. You should worry about the influence the intruder will have on those around him. But I digress. Where should you look first for the intruder's natural body? I suggest checking anyone who has appeared out of nothing over the past year or so."

Dumbledore nodded. The Sorting Hat must have gleaned a lot of good sense from the centuries of being placed on people's heads, even if they happened to be only eleven-year-old children. "I think I have just the person to talk to," Dumbledore said as he silently summoned parchment and a quill to begin his letter.

_Mr. Fletcher,_

_I hope you are well and that your understanding of the world below is as thorough as it has always been. I understand the danger you have put yourself in on my behalf in the past (though I suspect you have no trouble endangering yourself without my help) and I must call on you once more._

_Please send me a list of previously unknown individuals who have arrived in magical Britain through mysterious circumstances over the past year or so, with a stronger focus on the recent. I am searching for the owner of a raccoon Patronus who may or may not pose a threat to Hogwarts students in the near future. Any other unsavory characters who are found through this search by coincidence will be ignored unless I receive condemning information from an independent source._


	6. Chapter 6

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, who isn't me. The only profit I get from this is personal satisfaction.

* * *

Special Delivery

* * *

Fred was not having a good first night at Hogwarts. He and George had decided to sleep in each other's dorms rather than deal with the hassle of showing things to each other on the first night. Salazar's wall and the Fat Lady couldn't tell the difference, anyway. When Fred got back up to the Slytherin, the other first years had decided that it would be good fun to take George's possessions out of his trunk and hide them all over. Fred wanted to cry. _These are the people George has to deal with for the next seven years._ But he kept his tears back. Slytherin would only be crueler if George was an easy target.

"Where have you put my things?" Fred asked with as much confidence as he could muster.

"I don't know," one of the boys said. "Maybe you should ask a house-elf—oh, wait. You're family's probably too poor to realize what a house-elf even is!"

The others laughed. Once the laughter stopped, Fred asked the boy, "how many siblings do you have?"

"None," the boy replied a smirk. "I don't have to worry about anyone stealing any food from my mouth."

"I have six, three of which are here at school and all of them know more magic than I do," Fred replied. "You have no one but other first years to protect you from their wrath. Now, I will ask one more time: where have you put my things?"

The boy grumbled and pulled out George's things from under his bed and the other boys followed suit, taking things out of their own trunks, behind their wall hangings, and one boy went downstairs and came back with George's textbooks. Fred suspected that they didn't get everything, but he didn't remember every last thing George had packed.

"That will do for the time being, but I expect to have my every possession back as it was when I first got to Hogwarts by morning. Now I'm going to bed."

* * *

After George got all of his living arrangements at the Hog's Head out of the way and Aberforth had turned in for the night, George snuck out to the Shrieking Shack. There wasn't a door out of the building, so George had to Apparate in. He'd never gotten around to using the secret passage under the Whomping Willow, but he had heard the story of how Sirius Black escaped Hogwarts enough times that the tunnel was impossible to get lost in. He disillusioned himself as he got to the base of the crazy tree and levitated a stick to the knot that would immobilize it. As he emerged, he grabbed three small pebbles and began transfiguring them as he walked to the castle. He got to the Fat Lady's portrait when he realized that he didn't know the password. He racked his brain, but he'd had hundreds of passwords to remember during his time at Hogwarts and whatever the first one was, he'd need help to remember.

George decided to change tactics. He conjured up some parchment and envelopes and wrote two notes, placing one in each envelope along with a transfigured pebble, saving the last pebble for himself. He then set up a dispenser over the portrait hole that would activate when someone with his genetic makeup passed under it. George, mentally thanking Harry and Ron for being idiotic enough as second years to infiltrate Slytherin, proceeded to go down to the dungeons. He wasn't sure which wall would provide access to the common room, but he was fortunate enough that he was present just as a young Slytherin girl came out looking like she badly needed to use the bathroom. George ran to the hole, barely making it in before it closed up again. George made a note of the future password list and found his way to the first year boys' dorm.

George found Fred asleep in his younger self's bed. _Are you just watching out for me? You didn't have to do that, Fred._ He accidentally knocked his leg on younger George's trunk and, noticing a slightly hollow sound, opened to see what was missing—there wasn't enough around the bed to warrant its emptiness, that was for sure. _The stupid little Slytherins_, he realized.

Silently, he said, _Accio George Weasley's things,_ and one by one, the missing items came to George and he placed them in his trunk. Once that was done, George placed a curse on the trunk he and Fred had started working on towards the end of the war. _Now try messing with younger me's things._

George turned his attention to the real purpose of coming to Hogwarts that night. He retrieved the transfigured pebble from the remaining envelope and placed it in Fred's mouth. Fred unconsciously fought back against it, but soon the pebble was a part of him.

_Now let's test this,_ George thought to himself as he placed his own pebble in his mouth and took a swig of pumpkin juice. Pumpkin juice came into Fred's mouth and he swallowed it instinctively. George was suddenly awake in the Gryffindor bed he had known for seven years, in the body of his younger self. Since he might as well, George exited the Gryffindor common room and retrieved the letter he had written to Young George and stepped back into the common room before it closed.

_Mr. Fred Weasley,_

_In light of your brother's predicament, I have enclosed means of monitoring it. Place this tooth in your mouth and it will duplicate any pumpkin juice you drink and send it to your brother's mouth through his own magical tooth and vice versa. This way, he may know to expect a change in himself just prior to it and prepare himself for it. We cannot expect solutions just yet, but this may alleviate problems in the future._

_Albus Dumbledore_

Forging Dumbledore's handwriting had been easy enough, and George had fully intended to confess that he had sent the twins magic teeth after their installation, but now that all George needed to do was install the tooth in the envelope he held, the letters were no longer necessary. George tossed the parchment into the fireplace and watched it turn to ash as he placed the final tooth in his younger body's mouth and allowed it to absorb and take the place of one of his molars.

"I need a house-elf," George said to the empty air. A couple seconds later, a house-elf appeared.

"What does Master Gryffindor need?" the elf asked.

"I'm thirsty," George said, adding a hint of dryness to his voice. "Can you get me a small cup of pumpkin juice?"

"Of course, Master Gryffindor," the house-elf said as he vanished. He returned quickly with a cup of pumpkin juice in his hands. "Is that all, Master Gryffindor?"

"It is. Thank you," George replied. The house-elf vanished again and George's paranoid mind began to wonder if he should have obliviated the elf before he left, but it was a little late for that now. Hopefully Dumbledore wouldn't notice.

George climbed the stairs to his dormitory, laid down in his bed, and poured the contents of the cup into his mouth, careful to not let the liquid touch his magic tooth until he vanished the cup. George got his body comfortable and prepared his mind for the return to his real body.

* * *

Fred Weasley awoke to the sound of screaming. One of the Slytherins was running around clutching his wrist crying, "my hand! My hand!" Said hand was covered in blisters and had a sickly hue. And his fingernails had become wood. The crazy Slytherin noticed that Fred had woken up and, with his good hand, pointed at the red-haired boy. "You! This is all your fault!"

"Seriously?" Fred asked as he wiped the sleep from his eyes. "You think _I_ did _that_?"

"You put a curse on your trunk!"

"Yeah, except for the fact that I've never cast a spell in my life," Fred deadpanned. "And if you were going to steal my things again, no wonder it got angry with you. One of the older students probably wanted to prank me and they got you instead. I'll have to thank him or her later." The Slytherin tried to clobber him, but Fred escaped the dormitory before the boy could do worse than a bruise or two.

Fred decided that, even though he was still wearing pajamas, it was best to alert a teacher and have them take care of the trunk instead of risking touching it. Since Fred was supposed to be George and he was in the Slytherin Dungeons, that meant talking to Professor Snape. Fred hadn't heard good things about the man from his older brothers, but the professor should be able to deal with the problem. With luck, he might get Hogwarts' most horrifying teacher on his side. At least Snape's office was on the same floor so he didn't have to walk far.

"Mr. Weasley, it is improper to walk about the school without your uniform," Snape said as he glanced up from whatever he was writing.

"I'm aware of that," Fred said.

"Then do not subject me to looking at your night-clothes another moment and change yourself," Snape replied as he turned a sheet of parchment over.

"Someone cursed my trunk—I can't get in without getting blisters and my fingernails turned to wood."

Snape gave him a cursory look. "You do not seem to be cursed, Mr. Weasley."

"I'm not, but one of the other boys touched my trunk," Fred replied.

"Did you see him off to the hospital wing?" Snape asked. Fred shook his head. "Tut, tut. Five points from Gryffindor for your lack of compassion for your fellow student."

"I'm in Slytherin—why take points from Gryffindor?" Fred asked.

"You are no Slytherin, Mr. Weasley," Snape replied. "In the meantime, we must ensure that no other students are cursed by your negligence."

Fred gritted his teeth instead of protesting further and followed Snape back to the Slytherin Common Room and his trunk.

"Are you aware of who has placed this curse?" Snape asked after a mere second of glancing at the trunk.

"It was like that when I woke up," Fred replied.

Snape tapped the trunk with his wand a couple of times. "No student could have applied the charm to your trunk. It's blood magic, though the most benign blood magic I have ever seen."

"How could blood magic be benign? I thought it was dark magic."

"It depends on how it is used," Snape said. "An act of love and sacrifice can be in the form of blood magic and it is decidedly not a dark art. In the instance of your trunk, however, it appears that instead of requiring blood as payment or a power source, it is a mere check required to deactivate the curse."

"And whose blood is exempt from it?"

"Your own, if I am correct, as well as close blood relations. The compatibility requirement is at least 30%."

"But it's safe for me to touch, right?"

"I thought that obvious, Mr. Weasley," Snape sneered.

Fred stretched out his hand with caution—he wasn't about to trust Snape at his word—and touched the trunk. Nothing happened.

"Now that you no longer fear your storage compartment, I will resume my lesson plans, if you don't mind," Snape said as he turned and swooped away.

Fred, for his part, changed his clothes and went up to the Gryffindor common room. "Semper Ubi Sub Ubi," he told the Fat Lady and she let him in.

"What are you doing here, Slytherin?" a female prefect asked.

"There's a Slytherin here?" Fred asked as he looked around in mock fear. "Where?"

She pointed to the edge of Fred's robes. Apparently, they had changed green overnight, which was convenient for everyone else but annoying for him. "I think the laundry elves messed up. I'm Fred Weasley."

"Then who is upstairs, asleep in your bed?"

"The other Fred Weasley. I've been experiencing Spontaneous Duplication lately."

"You have an identical twin," the prefect said flatly.

"He's around somewhere too." Fred definitely had to thank Dumbledore again for the excuse—it was going to be fun claiming there were two Freds in addition to George.

"You're going to lose House Points for this," the prefect threatened.

"For who?"

"For Gryffindor, of course!"

"But you just said I wasn't a Gryffindor," Fred pointed out. "That means I should be losing Slytherin points for my shenanigans, right?"

The prefect just scowled and Fred took it as an opportunity to escape upstairs.

"Rise and shine, Fred!"

"George?" George asked groggily.

"No, it's Fred—the other Fred. We're dealing with Spontaneous Duplication, remember?"

"Oh. Do you know where George is?"

"The Saintlike One?" Fred asked. George nodded. "He's probably wanting me to go scarf some pumpkin juice."

"Is it weird that I woke up with a pumpkin juice taste in my mouth?" George asked.

"You're probably just imagining it, unless… Well, _someone_ placed a curse on George's trunk this morning that only ignores a close blood relation."

"Why would he do that?"

"I don't know," Fred replied. "Some of the other Slytherins tried to steal George's things, but they're all back where they belong now."

"Bribery. He's trying to bribe us."

"I thought I could follow this conversation at first, but now I am just plain confused," a boy said as he got up from bed—Lee Jordan, if Fred remembered right. "Are you two going to do this every morning?"

"Probably," Fred and George replied.

"Well, if you ever need a third Fred running around, I officially volunteer for the position," Lee proclaimed.

Fred and George exchanged glances. Lee was dark everything and clearly of African descent, whereas the Weasley twins were pasty redheads covered in freckles. "You're not old enough," George said.

"And you've got the accent all wrong," Fred added.

"I'm older than both of you and I don't have an accent!" Lee defended. Then his face fell with realization and quickly dissolved into a smirk. "If I manage to fulfill both of those requirements, can I be Fred?"

"Why not?" Fred replied.

"Because we don't want to get in trouble with You-Know-Who—not _You-Know-Who_, but the other guy who you know who I'm talking about," George told Fred.

"Why would he mind? He probably protected George's stuff far better than we ever could—it's not like he _wants_ us to be miserable. At least, I don't think he does."

"Well, tell me what he's doing with us if you understand him so well," George retorted.

"I doubt we'll ever understand what's going on in that twisted mind of his—it'll be as much of a mystery as what it was about Harry Potter that had him kill He Who Must Not Be Named—the real one, I mean," Fred replied.

"Again, I have no idea who or what you're talking about," Lee said, "but maybe you can try talking to 'him'?"

"No," George replied. "I'm not going through that any more than I absolutely have to."

"Just a thought," Lee shrugged.

"George, it's going to happen again anyway," Fred said. "I really don't want to go the rest of my life without pumpkin juice, and there's already the Scabbers threat. We can decide on terms together before talking to him."

"So you really are George?" Lee asked George.

A grin sprouted on George's face. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Well, since George isn't allowed in here, I guess this Fred calling you that was him accidentally calling you by his not-name," Lee said as he stroked an imaginary beard. "In any case, Fred, Fred's right. Fred, go do what Fred told you to—back me up here Fred?"

"That's right," George said even though it was obvious that Lee was taking sides with the real Fred's opinion that they talk to the Saintlike One, even if Lee had no idea what that meant.

"Fred," Fred said, "putting it off will only make things worse."

"Fine, but only if you promise to be paranoid around him," George said.

"I promise. Let's go down to breakfast."

"Mr. Other-You-Know-Who is at breakfast?" Lee asked.

"No, we just need to do something there first," Fred replied.

"Drink pumpkin juice?" Lee guessed.

"Exactly."

* * *

Fred grabbed a pair of cups of pumpkin juice for him and George and had his twin follow him out into an empty corridor. They checked the area twice for eavesdroppers and found none.

"You ready, George?" Fred asked.

"No, but I doubt I'll ever be. Bottoms up."

Fred and George each took a chug of their respective drinks.

"Hello, Fred," the Saintlike One said brightly.

"Don't call me that," Fred replied.

"Okay, George."

"Don't call me or my brother anything!" Fred hissed. So far, Fred thought he was doing rather well at being paranoid.

"What, you think I'll never be in control in public?" the Saintlike One asked rhetorically. "It is better for your twin that the students do not know of my existence or the abuse will be far worse than what he'll get for being a Weasley in Slytherin—and the best way to keep the secret is for me to act just like him."

"You know nothing about him!" Fred insisted.

"That's not entirely true," the Saintlike One replied. "I know he's terrified of me taking control over him. I've had two family members possessed by Voldemort and it terrified both of them despite being two very strong people. I know that I would not like to be possessed by an unknown entity and therefore I know your twin doesn't want that either. If it makes him feel better, I could arrange means of long distance communication. I know you have absolutely no reason to trust me, but I'd be very grateful if you'd keep an open mind about me."

"You don't care about saying the name of He Who Must Not Be Named," Fred noted.

"Neither does Dumbledore. Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself. If you want a more pleasant alternative, I have it on good authority that the phrase, 'I am Lord Voldemort' anagrams to 'Tom Marvolo Riddle.' My brother-in-law rather liked calling the old snake Tom to his face."

"You're a Death Eater," Fred realized.

"No, I'm not," the Saintlike One snapped. "Death Eaters call their master 'The Dark Lord' and would get tortured if they made fun of him. I, on the other hand, gladly turn my nose up at Moldy-shorts and have memorized a list of ways to annoy him. Number 44: whack him in the arm and say, 'mosquito,' every few minutes."

"Easy for you to say," Fred said. "He's dead."

"Ah, Fred, that's where you're wrong," the Saintlike One said condescendingly. "Tom is only _mostly_ dead. Sometime before you graduate, he'll return. His quasi-ghost is probably somewhere in Albania right about now. If I thought it was a good idea, I'd probably let him possess me and have me attack Harry Potter, as he can't do anything but defeat him again. Harry, however, is not ready to be traumatized for life just yet, so we'll wait on that one. Tom has to find his way to his own body sooner or later—it's the only way to kill him permanently."

"Yeah, right," Fred scoffed. "Resurrect him to kill him—that seems like a _great_ plan."

"Voldemort has six Horcruxes—six fragments of his soul sealed away by dark magic in items he deems worthy of holding a part of him. After they're gone, someone has to finish him off while he has a body—it's rather hard to kill a spirit."

Fred's eyes narrowed. "You're either lying or you must be on You-Know-Who's side to know his secrets."

"Neither—he has no idea that I'm even alive. I have information that can stop him, but I'm not a good enough wizard to use it. Dumbledore needs my information."

"Why are you telling me instead of him?" Fred asked.

"You are your brother's keeper—and I trust you to keep him safe far more than I trust Dumbledore to," the Saintlike One explained. "Dumbledore is prone to do things 'for the greater good' and in the process lose semi-crucial allies because they no longer have reason to trust him. You, however, can hold certain information against him in case he treats your brother unfairly. Don't abuse what I tell you—if you try to manipulate him into going along with stupid pranks—or brilliant pranks, for that matter—I will probably do something to make you despise me even more. Now don't get me wrong: if you want to prank people, that is entirely your affair. But don't use any unfair advantages from me, okay?"

"I don't need any help from you," Fred replied.

"That's the spirit!" the Saintlike One said. "Now, you should probably be aware that I have installed a safety mechanism that will enable me or your twin to trigger the swap."

"You did what!"

"We all will taste pumpkin juice in our mouths when one of us drinks it. It's still up to you to swallow it and it'll assuage your brother's fears about me coming up on him unexpectedly. If your lives are ever in danger, you can call on me, but I'll abstain from pumpkin juice from now on unless one or more hands on your mum's clock ever goes to 'Mortal Peril.'"

"Will you let me tell other people about you?" Fred asked.

"I wouldn't recommend it, but if you trust them implicitly I see no harm. Except maybe your mum, who will probably kill you two for this, even though it's not your fault. The clincher is whether they can be discreet, I think."

"I suppose you don't want people to know you're evil."

"How many times do I have to go over this?" the Saintlike One asked. "I'm not evil, but since most possessors are, people will assume all sorts of things about me and George. I know what the stupid young Slytherins want to do to George—do you want to make it ten times worse by telling everyone he's possessed too? Your parents taught you that you had a brain, so _use it_!"

"My brain says that you're trying to trick me into doing whatever you want me to do," Fred replied.

"Your brain should also tell you that at least one thing I've told you today is true, otherwise you'll never trust me. The lies, if there are any, can be found out with a little investigation. Or you can ignore me for the rest of your life and only let me go during History of Magic class—which I'm only subjecting myself to as a favor to George. When is that, by the way?"

"Tomorrow, I think," Fred said. "But I'm not summoning you."

The Saintlike One shrugged. "George's loss. Was there anything else you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Did you put the curse on George's trunk?" Fred asked.

"I did. I also made sure all of his things were returned to him. You're welcome." With that, the Saintlike One downed his cup of pumpkin juice and Fred felt pumpkin juice leak from one of his teeth. "Swallow if you want to get rid of me," the Saintlike One advised. Fred did so and George returned.

"So? What did he say?" George asked.

Fred told his twin everything that had happened during George's possession. "I think he's terrified of Dumbledore and that's why he wants us to keep secrets from him."

"So you want to take everything to Dumbledore?" George asked.

"Yes, but it's your call on who can be trusted. You don't have any of his persuasion on you and I'll just keep second- or third-guessing myself."

"I trust Dumbledore far more than I trust the Saintlike One," George decided. "Let's get breakfast really quick and go see him."

* * *

This early in the term, Dumbledore rarely bothered with a password. The gargoyle was able to defend itself against pranking students, but there was always a new student or two who wanted to meet the Headmaster before things got rolling and he didn't want to shut them out just because he'd never told them a password. Thus, it was with ease that the twins returned to his office once more.

"Any progress with your parasite?" Dumbledore asked as he gave George Weasley a cursory mental examination to make sure that the Saintlike One wasn't there.

"He told me lots of stuff and said that I should use what he said to manipulate you into keeping George safe," Fred Weasley said. "But I'm not going to hold anything back just because he thinks it's a good idea."

"I thank you for your faith in me. I will nevertheless do my best to honor your wishes about my interference with your lives. What am I to know?"

"There was a lot of stuff. I'm not sure if I can explain it all."

"There is a way to magically extract a memory and allow others to observe it," Dumbledore said as he went to retrieve his Pensieve. "Would you prefer that method?"

"Can George watch too?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Of course."

* * *

"That was most interesting," Dumbledore said as he and young George Weasley emerged from the Pensieve.

"That was really weird," George said. "But do you know whether he was telling the truth?"

"I am confident that there was some truth," Dumbledore replied.

"What about the Horcruxes?" Fred asked.

Dumbledore shrugged. "I can certainly consider the possibility that Lord Voldemort split his soul into seven pieces to be a very strong one. It fits from what I know about him and his experiences at school. I do wonder how the parasite could have discovered that secret."

"Well, I guess he was right about you using You-Know-Who's name," Fred muttered.

"The parasite took the words out of my own mouth in several instances. And speaking of mouths, may I see the inside of each of yours?"

The twins complied and Dumbledore examined their teeth. There was one tooth in each of them that had a magical signature identical to the raccoon Patronus. "Very clever. He's integrated a tooth in your mouths that will be impossible to rid yourselves of without making you permanently toothless, and perhaps not even then. The tooth will transmit pumpkin juice to the other two teeth in his and your mouths. If there is a surveillance tool on either of you, though, I cannot detect it. I cannot stop him from changing you two in the future; I can, however, give you each a never-ending vial of pumpkin juice."

"Please," George Weasley begged.

Dumbledore silently conjured two small black vials with flipping lids. "You will have to refill these regularly or you're going to have an endless supply of rancid pumpkin juice, but you should be able to activate or deactivate the parasite at will."

"Thank you, professor."

* * *

_Such an enigma, this parasite is,_ Dumbledore thought to himself. _So desperate for trust that he'd reveal all of Riddle's secrets to me. 'I am Lord Voldemort.' I never realized that's why he chose the name._

_And always so flippant. His fear of Voldemort must be great if he tries to hide it so much that he overcompensates. And Albania? That was Tom's most likely last location before he sought employment—that cannot be a coincidence._

_Not to mention the personal details about me and the Weasleys. Molly's temper is fairly well known, but not her clock. While I suppose it is possible he saw the clock before the boys came to Hogwarts, why would he know when the hands changed to Mortal Peril? And for that matter, how did he manage to implant new teeth in the boys' mouths without their knowledge?_

A few quick inquires later and Dumbledore learned that the Weasley twin who had slept in Gryffindor Tower the previous night had requested pumpkin juice from one of the house elves. Judging by the fact that neither twin seemed likely to ever drink it willingly again, the parasite had to have planted the false teeth by then. And, unless the parasite had planted it on one of his earlier visits (which seemed unlikely), he had to have come in person or by other proxy.

The Headmaster decided to take the opportunity to walk the halls, specifically the corridor of the Fat Lady's portrait. A complex bit of magic above the portrait caught his eye. "Ingenious," he whispered.

"Hello, Headmaster," the Fat Lady said. "If you're going to ask for the names of students who sneak out, I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you once more." Dumbledore sighed. It had never been confirmed, but there were very strong theories out there that said that the Fat Lady depicted in the portrait was that of Godric Gryffindor's mistress and that she would never snitch on someone who probably was just sneaking about in the name of love. It was understandable that the other dormitory guards wouldn't snitch as they couldn't, but Gryffindor students were probably the most likely to be out of bed past curfew. At least she was adept at hiding her sympathy for those who were twitterpated. Waking her up in the middle of the night annoyed her far more than anything else and she played up that annoyance when she was half-asleep, but she never complained the morning afterward.

"I'm merely interested in the dispenser that was recently installed overhead," Dumbledore explained. "Do you know who made it?"

"Whoever she was, she was invisible while she did it," the Fat Lady replied.

"She?" Dumbledore was surprised. He didn't think the Saintlike One was female, but for all he knew, they could be.

"Or he," the Fat Lady added. "I couldn't tell, as they were disillusioned."

"And has the dispenser activated?" the Headmaster asked.

"Once, but I will not say for whom."

"Thank you, my lady, you have been most helpful."

Dumbledore wanted to believe that the Fat Lady only assumed that the person who set up the dispenser was female due to her projecting romantic ideals on young George Weasley, but he couldn't dismiss the possibility that that person—whether hired by the parasite or the parasite themself—could be a witch.

Dumbledore summoned the dispenser and examined it more closely. It definitely was activated by blood magic—a perfect match to the Weasley twins' blood, if he was not much mistaken. Thankfully, it was not blood magic that required spilt blood, but something more towards what protected Harry Potter, albeit nowhere nearly as powerful as no sacrifice had been made. The magic had an interesting crudeness to it, like some refinement had taken place but it had been stopped for unknown reasons. Perhaps Lily Potter was not the only one who had studied blood magic during the war—he would have to get a second opinion from Severus on the matter.

Dumbledore replaced the dispenser and placed a ward on it so that he would know when someone tried to access it again. Hopefully the parasite would make a mistake when he or she made their next step and the Headmaster would have a clue what to do about them.


	7. Chapter 7

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, who isn't me. The only profit I get from this is personal satisfaction.

* * *

Up to No Good

* * *

"You never cease to amaze me, Charlemagne," Mundungus said once George told him that he not only befriended Aberforth, but managed to make him his employer. They met near the place they 'reunited' in Knockturn Alley, where no one would overhear them. It wasn't the best arrangement, but Dung wasn't allowed in the Hog's Head and George didn't have money to go anywhere else in public yet.

"And before I forget, here are the sickles I owe you," George said as he passed over a pile of Knuts that he got from tips working at the Hog's Head. He wouldn't get payday for another couple weeks, but there were enough people who were grateful to be served by a younger, not always grumpy, face. "I don't want to jeopardize my position just yet, but within a month I'll start making contacts that you should find useful."

"Sure, Charlemagne. Also, while you're working, an old friend of mine is looking for someone new in magical Britain. Don't know much, but he does have a raccoon Patronus. I know it ain't much to go on, but…"

_Dumbledore's looking for me? Of course he is… At least Mundungus probably thinks I'm not a suspect. _"My eyes and ear will be open," George said.

"You didn't destroy your ear on purpose, did you?" Dung asked.

"Story for another day," George promised.

"I'll hold you to that," Mundungus laughed. "Boy, am I glad you're not dead. Do you know what I believed your fate was?"

"Drowned in Azkaban with a Dementor chasing me with a spear crying, 'What? How is it that I can speak now?'" George suggested.

"Close. Drowned in Azkaban with you still unable to cast a stinking Patronus. I mean, even _I've_ got a corporeal one now."

"You've been practicing?" George asked innocently.

"Most people would ask 'what's the form?' first. Not you, Charlemagne—don't ever change," Dung laughed. "And yes, I've been practicing in case I ever find myself in need of something in the depths of Azkaban. You know how they say Gringotts or Hogwarts are the most safe and secure places on the planet? Provided that you can deal with the Dementors, I say Azkaban wins hands down and someone will realize this sooner or later."

"I forget where I heard it," George said—which was true—"but someone said that Barty Crouch Junior escaped Azkaban with his mum's help."

"And that's where it becomes apparent that you haven't been keeping up," Mundungus said. "Both of them are dead."

"That's just what they _wanted_ us to think. A dying woman goes to Azkaban and swaps places with a convicted felon, using Polyjuice to make sure no one notices, and she dies looking like the felon. It's a high cost, but no one suspects it. If you don't care that the world knows you've escaped, then you can always try sneaking out as an Animagus."

"If I ever find either of those happening, I will give you a trunk of galleons," Mundungus laughed.

"Can I get that in writing?" George asked.

Mundungus' eyes narrowed in suspicion. "If you've got plans in motion, I don't want to set myself up to fail."

"I have some plans," George admitted, "but none directly involve escaping Azkaban." _Yet._

"And that clinches it. No gold for you."

* * *

**A Handy List of George Weasley's Plans (non-exclusive)**

1. Attain trust from younger Fred and George

2. Find and destroy—or rather get Dumbledore to destroy—Voldemort's Horcruxes

3. Sneak into Hogwarts and get ingredients and directions for brewing Polyjuice, Veritaserum, and any other useful potions. And make Weasley Wizard Wheezes products, of course.

4. Construct timelines for James Oliver and Charlemagne identities

5. Reveal Pettigrew as a rat and/or encourage Black's escape from Azkaban

6. Befriend Death Eaters and other ne'er do wells and persuade them to keep away from Dark Lords

7. Earn money for anything else needed

8. Volunteer at St. Mungo's sometime

9. Be patient

* * *

After a month of Hogwarts, Fred was starting to understand why the Saintlike One offered to sit History of Magic. The class was absolutely dull and every student had fallen asleep at least twice. The Saintlike One could do whatever nefarious plans he had once everyone else was bored out of their skulls and asleep or requiring other stimulation—whichever would serve the Saintlike One's purposes more. Fortunately, as best as Fred could tell, George's body was inhabited only by himself since the last time Fred summoned the Saintlike One, so he didn't have to deal with the abomination.

The Slytherins, on the other hand, were getting creative with their treatment of George (or whoever they believed to be George). Fred still refused to let George sleep in the Slytherin Dungeons. Fred and George, with some help from Lee Jordan, had gone to war against the House of the Serpent. Although they hadn't been permitted to do much wandwork yet, they found they were able to adapt potions to useful ends, such as making the Slytherins who liked to be somber in public act downright giddy at breakfast and vice versa. Fortunately, they'd only had detention three times, though Filch's was their least favorite—cleaning the trophy room. Fred believed that Filch swept up dirt from all over the castle and spent his free time caking it on the awards. The only good thing to come out of the detention was tangible proof that Tom Marvolo Riddle existed, though why a model student would become the darkest wizard of all time was a mystery to Fred. Perhaps it was a sign that pranking wasn't a path to darkness like Mum always said.

Fred decided—and George and Lee agreed with him—that it would be a public good to give Filch and his cat something to worry about in his own office. After finding out about a prank from some sixth year Gryffindors, the trio made their way to the caretaker's office, knowing that he'd be screaming at the world for at least a couple hours elsewhere.

"I still don't see how this'll work," Lee said.

"This was made by Professor Dumbledore," George said as he held out his replicating vial. "I've been keeping pumpkin juice in here—"

"Which neither of you ever drink," Lee pointed out.

"It's for emergencies," Fred explained. Even though the Saintlike One allowed other people to know about him, Fred and George hadn't told Lee yet—they hadn't even told Charlie yet, who they decided would be the first to know when they built up the courage to. The Saintlike One was probably right about the amount of care they should take with the secret of his existence.

"Right, because you never know when you're going to need to drink your least favorite drink," Lee said as he rolled his eyes.

"Anyway, it'll replicate to full once the top closes," George continued. "Whatever we put in will fill to the top."

"And _that's _why you had me get all of this stuff?" Lee asked as he pointed to his bulging bag.

"Yep."

"Wicked."

And so, after the twins checked to make sure the hallway was clear one last time, Lee cast "Alohomora" on Filch's office door and the three troublemakers let themselves in. Lee placed a bit of stinkweed in the vial and George closed and opened it, and poured it onto Filch's desk. Lee and George repeated the action with a bit of cat hair. Fred took the opportunity to look around for anything interesting. In a cabinet drawer labeled "Confiscated and Highly Dangerous" he found a bunch of doodads and knickknacks. A blank piece of parchment, however, is what interested Fred the most. There was no logical reason for it to be banned and yet, apparently, it was. By this time, the desk and floor were covered in cobwebs, little round metal balls, salad dressing, dust, earwax, and twenty other annoying things.

"Come on, let's get out of here before he gets back," Fred said as he hid the parchment in his robes. The trio, under Fred's leadership, fled the premises.

"What did you find?" George asked once they were back in the safety of the common room.

"A confiscated piece of blank parchment," Fred explained. "Any ideas on how to reveal its secrets?"

"We can always ask it," Lee suggested. Fred and George exchanged glances. Before the Saintlike One, they probably would have done the same thing, but accidentally unleashing powers of darkness was not something either wanted to do. Fred regretted even taking it.

"It shouldn't be too evil," George said slowly. "I mean, Dumbledore would have been taking care of it if it were, not Filch."

"Exactly," Lee agreed. He pointed his wand at the parchment and asked, "will you tell me about what you do, please?"

"Are you sure it'll even understand you?" Fred started to ask when lines appeared on the parchment.

_Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs greet you._

_Mr. Moony would like to compliment your politeness in asking and wonders what you would use this document's secrets for._

_Mr. Wormtail is also curious about your motives and would like to add that you can't trust anyone once you learn the purpose of this document._

_Mr. Padfoot is glad to learn that future generations of Hogwarts may be served by this document and would like to remind everyone that if you aren't having fun, something has gone siriusly wrong._

_Mr. Prongs would like to correct Mr. Padfoot's spelling and encourages you to be persistent in your conquests._

_We are the Marauders. We leave this parchment to those at Hogwarts who want an edge on staying out of detention without forsaking what magic is all about._

"What in Merlin's name is this?" Lee breathed.

"Is it one of You-Know-Who's You-Know-What's?" George asked Fred.

"I don't think so. I think it's like a magical riddle for us to solve." He placed his wand on the map. "Can you tell us anything more about how to get this thing to work?"

_There will be four tests, one from each of us about things we've learned about life which will tell us if you're worthy of the secrets of this parchment. If you succeed, the parchment will be unlocked as long as it is used at least once a year. If you fail, we will have to insult you, as there isn't any other form of punishment available to us._

_Are you ready?_

"Lee, you do it," Fred said. He didn't want something to go wrong with George, but Fred had to remain clean of potentially dark magic to keep a check on the Saintlike One. That meant getting help from their new friend.

"No, let me," George said. "I'm already tainted, it's not like this could make things much worse."

"No one really thinks you are a Slytherin," Lee pointed out, obviously not understanding George's true meaning.

"Are you sure, George?" Fred asked.

"Yes," George replied and he tapped his wand on the piece of parchment. "I am ready for your test."

_Mr. Prongs will start with his test._

_Think of something or someone that you believe in. Is it an ideal, a thing, a person, or a group?_

"A person," George whispered.

_Now imagine this person has decided you aren't worth their time. You discover this person might be in danger. What do you do?_

"Tell him."

_They ignore you._

"Keep bugging him."

_They attack you for continuing to bother them._

"Take it and beg him to listen."

_They seriously injure you. You can no longer contact them._

"Do whatever it takes to keep him out of danger."

_They insist you stop trying to help them._

"Keep helping where he can't see it."

_Persistence. Selflessness. You have passed the first test. Mr. Padfoot will give you the second test._

"I'm ready."

_That which you believe in is sick and there is nothing you can do to help._

"Look for a cure."

_There is no cure._

"Keep him company."

_They've fallen into despair._

"Keep him laughing, or smiling at the very least. Even if I have to resort to stupid jokes."

_You're making it worse._

"Let him know I care about him and want him to get better."

_They die._

George paused. "Try to live for him."

_Loyalty. Optimism. You have passed the second test. Mr. Wormtail will give you the third test._

George waited. The parchment began writing again.

_Pretend I am someone seeking to destroy that which you believe in. What do you tell me?_

"I don't know where he is. Maybe you should try looking behind the curtains at St. Mungo's—they might be hiding him."

_I don't believe you._

"I'm telling the truth!"

_Anyone can claim that, but I know you're lying._

"I'm not lying! I don't know where he is!"

_Tell me the truth._

"Fine, I'm lying. But I won't tell you where he is."

_I'm now an authority figure. I also seek for that which you believe in. What do you tell me?_

"I can't tell you."

_There are rules which state that you must tell me what I need to know._

"Those rules are broken then. I'm not talking."

_I will provide you with funds you require dearly._

"I can't risk it."

_You will be sent to Azkaban if you refuse to cooperate._

"Then so be it."

_Rebel against authority. Lie when necessary. You've passed test number three. Mr. Moony will give you the last test. Are you ready?_

"Do your worst."

_That which you have believed in has betrayed you and fallen to darkness. What do you do?_

"Remind him of who he really is."

_They attack you._

"Let him."

_They are about to destroy you._

"Keep trying to break through to him till the end."

_You're in the afterlife and they shortly join you. They claim to have repented of their error._

"Forgive him and apologize for not doing enough to help him."

_Forgiveness. Purity of heart. You have passed the final test._

George heaved a sigh of relief. Fred would have hugged him if Lee hadn't been watching, so he patted his twin on the back instead.

"I really wish you weren't around here to see that," George said.

"Why? I have every right to know what you face," Fred said.

"You don't have to keep babying me. I can handle things without you sometimes."

"Hey, you two," Lee said, "the parchment looks like it has a lot more to say."

Fred and George looked down and read the messy script.

_We now apologize for the somberness throughout the tests and hereby decree that you will never have to be subjected to our torture again. We only made the tests so as to protect this parchment from wizards who would abuse it in the name of evil—or worse, prevent its use entirely._

_The parchment you hold is the Marauder's Map. It is as perfect a map of Hogwarts as can possibly exist and it never lies. We encourage you to use this map to bring laughter and chaos to those around you—especially teachers who have forgotten that magic is all about having fun._

_The password to activate the map is one which few would utter intentionally: I solemnly swear that I am up to no good._

_To deactivate the map, say, "mischief managed."_

_This is our gift to Hogwarts. Please use it in a manner which Peeves would approve of._

"How does a map help create chaos?" Fred asked.

"Well, let's find out," Lee said. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

The designs of the map began spreading across the parchment. The first thing to catch Fred's eye was names and dots moving around. He quickly found Gryffindor Tower and, sure enough, he, George, and Lee were all properly identified. "If this is accurate," Fred said, "this means that we will never have to worry about unexpected visitors sneaking up on us. Not getting caught is probably a fine way of making more mischief."

"Honestly, Fred," Lee said, "it should have been you who got Sorted into Slytherin instead of George."

"I wasn't," George said. "Neither of us were. The Sorting Hat Sorted someone else."

"Are you sure you want to tell him?" Fred asked.

"Charlie graduates next year, but Lee will be there for us much longer than Charlie or anyone else will," George said. "We can't keep secrets from him."

"And now I'm confused as I was the day we met," Lee said. "I don't care if you two have your own secrets—Merlin, you're twins, you know each other better than anyone."

"No, George is right," Fred said. "We trust you and we need this secret known to someone else, just in case something goes wrong." He took a deep breath. "George has been periodically possessed by someone who calls himself the Saintlike One. For reasons neither of us understand, he comes or goes whenever I drink pumpkin juice. That's why we have vials of pumpkin juice on us at all times but we never drink from them. The last time we saw him was a couple days after we got to Hogwarts, when he made it so that any of us could get pumpkin juice in my mouth. Fortunately, he hasn't abused his ability (as far as we can tell, anyway), but we don't have any good reasons to trust him. He either knows way too much or is trying to get a lot of bad information to Dumbledore."

"Can I meet him?" Lee asked.

"Why would you want to do something like that?" George asked. "He's absolutely crazy."

"It's possible that he used to have the Marauder's Map. If he did, he would have had to prove that he was a good person. And besides, I'd like to know what to expect if he ever takes over George unexpectedly."

"Alright," Fred said as he took his vial from his pocket. "Ready, George?"

* * *

George was in the Gryffindor Common Room and Fred and Lee Jordan were both staring at him.

"Could you not stare at me, please?" he asked.

"Did it work?" Lee asked. "Are you still George?"

_They told him? _George wondered. "As much as I've always been," George shrugged. "Fred, do you have any suggestions?"

"Maybe I didn't drink enough," Fred said as he went for his vial of pumpkin juice again.

"No, it's okay," George said with a smile. "I'm Saintlike."

"You're actually him?" Lee asked.

"I told you I'd act like George if I ever switched in front of someone else," George told Fred with a smirk.

Fred scowled. "And it wasn't obvious that I brought you out to show Lee you exist?"

"Sure it was. I just wanted to show you that I can convince people I'm George whenever it's necessary. Hello, Lee. I am known as the Saintlike One. I would like to take this moment to insist that I am not a dark wizard and that I will protect you should it ever become necessary. Fred, I reckon you should warn me in advance whether you want me to act like myself or like your younger brother. Say something with 'saint' or 'saintlike' after drinking pumpkin juice if you want me. Say nothing if you don't. If you can't talk, I'll figure it out by context."

"Can you show me something George can't do—just so I'm sure you're not both having me on?" Lee asked.

"Sure. Expecto Patronum." The silvery-white raccoon emerged from George's wand.

"Wicked."

"And, just for your information, this is a NEWT-level spell. The youngest person I know to have produced a corporeal Patronus was 13 at the time and he was something else. He personally faced a Dark Lord seven times, if I count right, before sacrificing himself."

* * *

**A Handy List of Harry Potter's Confrontations with Lord Voldemort**

1. Harry Potter, age 1, versus Lord Voldemort. Harry wins with Lily's blood magic.

2. Harry Potter, age 11, versus Quirrelmort. Harry wins with Lily's blood magic.

3. Harry Potter, age 12, versus Tom Riddle. Harry wins with Basilisk fang.

4. Harry Potter, age 14, versus Lord Voldemort. Harry wins (with losses) with Priori Incantatem and Portkey.

5. Harry Potter, age 15, versus Lord Voldemort. Harry wins (with losses) with purity of heart.

6. Harry Potter, age 16, versus Lord Voldemort. Harry's wand wins (with losses) with Priori Incantatem experience.

7. Harry Potter, age 17, versus Lord Voldemort. Harry sacrifices himself and wins with Lily's blood magic.

8. Harry Potter, age 17, versus Lord Voldemort. Harry totally wins and Voldemort kills himself with the Elder Wand.

* * *

"What kind of Dark Lord fighters do _you_ hang out with?" Lee asked George.

"Only two of them, nowadays," George replied, thinking of Aberforth and Mundungus. "They gave up when things got rough and it probably saved their lives."

"That's horrible!" Lee said.

George shrugged. "I never said they didn't make up for it later. Both were very important in bringing the Dark Lord down."

"Are you talking about Grindelwald?" Lee asked. "It can't be You-Know-Who since Harry Potter was the only thing that could stop him. Are there other Dark Lords out there I don't know about?"

"I'm not going to answer that," George replied. "Suffice it to say that inability to defend oneself will eventually destroy any society."

Lee and Fred mulled over that for a moment. "Who are you?" Lee asked.

"I'm George Weasley, also known as Fred, Gred, Georgie, Your Holeyness, Harry Potter, Tentacula, and, of course, the Saintlike One."

"No wonder you think he's probably completely mental," Lee muttered to Fred. To George, he said, "One more question: do you know what this is?" he asked, showing George the blank piece of parchment. The Marauder's Map.

"Ah, yes. I'm still a little sorry that I gave it to someone else fifth year, though they certainly put it to better use than I ever did."

"What is it, though?" Lee asked.

"I'm not going to do the work for you," George replied.

"We know what it is," Lee insisted. "We just want to know if _you_ do."

"Okay, how about you activate it and I'll deactivate it," George replied.

"Fair enough," Lee said. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

The map came to life. Out of curiosity, George took a quick look at his position in the castle. His name had thicker lines than usual, but otherwise it was the same. "Mischief managed," George said.

"You passed the tests too?" Young George asked.

"Tests?" George asked. "I never had any tests with this thing." _Maybe _get out of _tests, but not take one._

"Yeah," Lee said. "Moony, Wormtail, Prongs, and whoever it was—"

"Padfoot," George provided.

"Yeah, him," Lee agreed. "They made George prove his worthiness by sending him through these really awful scenarios like what would he do if 'that which he believed in' ever died or betrayed him."

_Fred, you told me you just managed to guess the password while I was asleep. Even when I'm _not_ possessed you look after me way too much._ "That sounds very little like the Marauders I remember. They were all about crazy fun mischief and if they were serious at any point in their school lives, it was right before graduation, before they went Dark Lord hunting. Three years later, one became a loner, one suffered extreme depression, and one as good as murdered the last. None of that should affect the map now, though. I never would have known about any of this were I not good friends with one of the Marauder's kids."

"If half the things you've told me were true," Fred said, "Dumbledore would have figured out who you were by now."

"Ah, but I'm not exactly in the places the Headmaster looks as options. I'm rather hoping you or your twin figures it out before he does."

"Figures what out?"

"Why I decided to possess Young George Weasley," George replied. "I'll give you a hint: if I was going to possess anyone, it would have to be him regardless of whether I wanted to be someone else."

"Who would you rather be?" Lee asked.

"No one. Well, maybe Voldemort so I could kill him by killing myself, but that's it."

"Too late," Lee said. "You-Know-Who is dead."

"Mostly dead," George corrected. "Humongous difference. Fred can fill you in on the details. Now, if you don't mind, I've got a life too," he said as he grabbed the vial he assumed would be full of pumpkin juice. Instead, it had cat litter in it. He spat it out, but little bits of it remained and kept him gagging. "What did you do with George's pumpkin juice?"

"Prank on Filch," Fred said with an evil grin. "I guess you aren't infallible as you think."

George performed Scourgify on his mouth, rinsed it with Aguamenti, and spat in Fred's face. Fred dodged. "I'm going to be expecting pranks from now on and none will succeed. One of my other names is Prankster-in-Chief," he said with a wink. George then grabbed Fred's vial, checked to make sure it was pumpkin juice, and then downed it. Fred spat out the juice that came into his mouth. "Any change?"

"Still Saintlike," George replied. "As far as pranks go, that was pathetic."

"Just checking the possession rules," Fred said. He took a second sip and this time George returned to his body at the bar at the Hog's Head.

"James? You awake now?" Aberforth asked.

"Yeah," George replied. "Sorry about that. Though I have a feeling that I'm going to have a lot of unpredictable narcoleptic episodes in the near future."


	8. Chapter 8

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, who isn't me. The only profit I get from this is personal satisfaction.

* * *

Making Inquiries

* * *

George thought back on his nieces' and nephews' time travel stories. There were a few common elements that showed up with surprising regularity. One of those was the necessity of learning Occlumency, so Voldemort didn't find out about the time travel. George figured that it was probably a good idea and so he snuck into the Hogwarts library. He never really thought he'd have a good reason to go to the land of books before—he and Fred had favored experimental learning over book learning—but there was a definite lack of teachers willing to teach him mind magic, so he would have to do things the hard way.

George found a few books—in the Restricted Section, of course—and began to read at one of the tables. He looked for a section that taught Occlumency, but being in a library must have caused him to channel his inner-Hermione and he got distracted by some other subjects.

First to pique his interest was the technique of extracting a memory to place in a Pensieve. It looked like a fairly simple process, though he didn't have a way to check that he did it correctly. Maybe he could hit two chasers with one Bludger, so to speak, and give Young George memories from his possession periods to examine with Dumbledore later.

The next subject to distract him was Legilimency. His mind started turning in a weird way: what would happen if he cast it on himself before he possessed Young George? Would he be able to split his mind in half and be aware of both versions of himself? It was something to try out the next time he had the opportunity.

He decided to save the Obliviate spell for another time and tried to focus on learning Occlumency. But, of course, he was distracted again by one small phrase: "it may be possible that Occlumency can guard against possession." He sincerely hoped that it was not true—at least not for the variant of possession he did with his younger self. If Dumbledore started teaching Young George to protect his mind, George would be in a fair bit of trouble. Maybe he _should_ focus on learning Legilimency first.

George pointed his wand at his head and whispered, "Legilimens." It felt a tad odd, but he couldn't be sure whether or not it was working properly or not.

He heard footsteps coming up the aisle: it was time to go. He replaced the book, made sure he was still invisible, and snuck past Filch and Mrs. Norris, who he suppressed the urge to kick. On his way out of the castle, George broke into the Potions storage cupboards and grabbed some ingredients "James Oliver" wouldn't or couldn't buy and headed for the secret passageway out.

* * *

The next morning, as soon as pumpkin juice entered his mouth, George cast Legilimens on himself and sat in the nearest chair he could find. When he went to his younger body, a small part of his consciousness remained in the Hog's Head. He could still see ahead of himself, but he was incapable of moving his older body. _Maybe I should cast the Imperius Curse on myself next time too._

A bop on the head in his younger body made him focus on more important matters: he was upside down in a tree and being pelted by Bowtruckles.

He sighed inwardly. It was a prank he'd done before. He couldn't really expect Fred and Young George to surprise him, he supposed, but he'd like to have _something_ of a challenge. He tried to keep a part of his mind back at the Hog's Head to serve as a handicap, but he'd lost the link when he thought too hard in Young George's body. So instead, he closed his eyes and began his escape.

The Bowtruckles were easy enough to dodge. Those creatures were noisy things. Since George didn't have a wand on him, he had to wandlessly cast Diffindo on the rope around his ankles that bound him to the tree and grab onto the branch before he fell to the ground—there was a sinkhole that would give way the moment he stepped on it. He got a good grip on the branch and swung himself back and forth until he built enough momentum to fling himself out of the unstable ground zone.

When George opened his eyes, Fred and Lee were in front of him with dumbfounded looks on their faces. "Not bad. I didn't try that one until after Halloween of my first year."

"You've done our prank?" Fred asked. "The prank we spent _hours_ coming up with?"

"Well, who would let a perfectly good sinkhole next to a tree go to waste?" George asked. "In any case, I get bonus points for escaping with my eyes closed."

"Yeah, right," Fred scoffed. "You just got lucky."

"Keep testing me, Fred. You'll see that you're dead wrong about my luck."

* * *

Albus Dumbledore usually visited the Hog's Head to check up on his brother once every couple of weeks. This particular night, it had been almost two months.

Aberforth noticed. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"

"For good reason," Albus replied. "I've had a great deal of information that all but fell from the sky and I have no idea how trustworthy it is."

"All sources are unreliable, Albus," Aberforth said as he handed the Headmaster his customary brandy.

"True, but for most the degree of reliability is estimable," Albus said. "In this case the source is either very reliable or has gone to a great deal of effort to convince me of its reliability. If it _is_ accurate, I have been saved a lot of headaches. If not, I could be in a great deal of trouble in the future."

"Simple answer is more likely," Aberforth suggested. "Not everyone can be perfectly upfront with you but they know you're often the only one who knows what to do with whatever information they tell you."

"I disagree," a nearby man said. Dumbledore was surprised to find he had no idea who the man was and so gave him a quick glance over: black hair, brown eyes, fading freckles, an ear that looked like it had been hit with a dark curse, and wore what looked like one of Aberforth's old cloaks. All this took less than the two seconds the man took to walk over and join them. "If whatever it is that someone tells you seems too good to be true, it probably is. Careful research and source checking is the way to go here. Better safe than sorry."

"And who might you be?" Albus asked.

"This here is James Oliver," Aberforth said. "He's started to help me with the place. Not very magical culture literate, but he knows how to hold himself in a skirmish better than any of my other regulars."

"I'd say he's exaggerating, but that'd be a lie," Mr. Oliver said. "Wizards simply don't have the ability to defend themselves like they used to. Thirty years with no consistent teachers is a recipe for disaster. I know it's probably just the jinx on the Defence position, but can't the great Dumbledore figure out a way to get around it?"

Aberforth looked like he was about to point out that the person Mr. Oliver was speaking to was in fact the Headmaster, but Albus quieted his brother. It was rare that anyone gave an honest opinion of Professor Dumbledore when he was around and he was going to milk the opportunity for all its worth. "Indeed, he can be shortsighted about a great many things, but how would you suggest he fix that particular problem?"

Mr. Oliver began counting on his fingers. "He could have the job swap between two teachers every year. He could split the class into two or more different ones. He could change the name. He could institute a dueling club with someone other than the Defence professor, to preserve the longevity of the club. He could have an unknown entity terrorize the students until they learn how to protect themselves. He could assign a ghost to teach the class. He could go find whoever cast the jinx in the first place and get it removed."

"Enough. I see your point," Albus said. Aberforth was trying very hard not to laugh, but he was not quite successful. "Do you really believe you could break the curse, though?"

"Well, not _me_," Mr. Oliver defended. "If I ever taught Defence—even if I only made my contract last one year—I'd still probably have something horrible happen to me like getting locked in my trunk all year while a Death Eater takes Polyjuice to impersonate me. That does not sound like fun."

Albus laughed. "You certainly have an active imagination, don't you?"

Mr. Oliver shrugged. "I always called it 'paranoia,' but at least it saved my skin at least a couple times during the war. Though I guess there really wasn't a Taboo on You-Know-Who's name—but you still won't catch me using it."

_A Taboo? _Dumbledore thought. _I suppose I never really considered that as a weakness of the Order. If I ever have to reinstate it, I'll try to get people to call him Tom instead. It'll take away from his ability to incite fear, at the very least._

"I think Professor Dumbledore would like listening to you," Albus told Mr. Oliver. "You should owl him with ideas on how to fix his problems."

"Why? You've heard everything already and if I think of anything else, I'll probably still be working here, Headmaster."

Albus laughed. "How long did you know who I was?"

"I suspected when you came in; it was mostly confirmed when Aberforth called you Albus," Mr. Oliver explained. "Besides you, I only know of one other Albus and I'm pretty sure he was named after you sometime after you turned 100. Although if I want to be completely honest, I suspected Aberforth might have been your alter ego until I found out you were brothers. Still, a little confirmation was nice."

"And you had no problem insulting me to my face," Albus noted.

"I'm not a man with two faces," Mr. Oliver said. "Different situations may call for different facets of my personality, but I prefer to just be me. It's easier that way."

"As long as you don't tickle a sleeping dragon in the process, I'm inclined to agree."

"Well, unless you insist we keep chatting, I want to not fall down on the job any more than I have to, so if you'll excuse me?" Mr. Oliver hopped over to another table.

"He's a very interesting fellow," Albus said after taking a long sip of his drink. "What can you tell me about him, Aberforth?"

"James is a Muggle-born who fought during the war. He was a member of a group of Muggle-borns on the run from Voldemort; he refuses to speak of their identities and once implied that he made an Unbreakable Vow to keep the group's components in absolute secrecy, even though most or all of them are dead. James is mostly a fair judge of character, though he did somehow manage to befriend and defend Macnair his first night here."

"Where has the man been all these years?" Albus asked.

Aberforth shrugged. "After the war, he decided to integrate with Muggle society. He suffered some major investing setbacks recently and was unable to recoup his losses. He came here with the intention of networking to find an occupation and his dueling skills impressed me enough to give him a shot as my assistant."

"You don't really need one," Albus pointed out.

"If I keep him here much longer I will," Aberforth grunted. "Somehow even my most somber customers like him and I've had a 10% increase in patronage just because he's here. He does fall down on the job occasionally, but it usually isn't his fault—he has narcolepsy."

"Really?" Albus asked.

"He mentioned having it the first day but I never saw it until earlier this week. He had at least three episodes yesterday," Aberforth said. "Personally, I think the cause is the fact that I've started getting the prettier women as patrons. I'd bet you a bottle of brandy that his wife was in his group of fighters and he doesn't want to feel unfaithful to her, but he doesn't want to be unfriendly either. So his body compensates by shutting off entirely. At least he doesn't look his 28 years or he'd never get any work done. He's aged almost as badly as Severus Snape."

"Well, few in this world have gone through what my Potions Master has. I imagine that Mr. Oliver also has depths he would rather not be known. Keep an eye on him, would you?"

"Sure, though I doubt I'll need to. With James, what you see is what you get."

* * *

**A Handy List of George Weasley's Personas**

1. 40-year-old George Weasley. George acting normally.

2. 11-year-old George Weasley. George acting like he did as a child.

3. Unknown-aged Saintlike One. George acting mysterious, all-knowing, and possibly crazy.

4. 28-year-old James Oliver. George acting like a Muggle-born war veteran.

5. 37-year-old Charlemagne. George acting like a liar that "tells the truth" to Mundungus Fletcher and helps him with his "business."

* * *

"It's been well over a month," Mundungus said. "You're going to take me out for a drink tonight and tell me all about how you got to where you are now."

"Did you ask someone when my night off was?" George asked suspiciously.

"No one ever goes to the Hog's Head on a Wednesday," Dung replied. "It wasn't that hard to figure out."

"Fine, but you have to go as someone else—I can't be seen in public with you. All you need is a veil and a dress…"

"I am _not _dressing up as a witch," Mundungus said.

"It's either witch or I will have just saved your life and you decided to treat me to a drink."

"Why can't I save _your_ life?"

"I have a reputation for having a quick wand. There'd have to be a much bigger reason that you had to save me than for me to save you. Or you can bypass the 'how we met' stories and go as a witch."

"I hate you, Charlemagne, I really do."

* * *

"So, you remember when the last night in America I saw you, there was a group of Muggles trying to warm themselves by the fire?" George asked as he held a drink in his hands.

"Yeah," Mundungus replied. George knew Dung would because he'd commented on it while telling George and his brother about the Fall of Charlemagne several years in the future.

"Well, that's not all they were doing. At least two of them were actually coppers. I, being unaware, decided to work my charm on one of the young ladies and then she's screaming 'RAPE!' at the top of her lungs. Before I could do anything, one of the coppers got a lucky blow behind my neck and I went instantly unconscious. I woke up in a cell and they interrogated me, but I played the 'disoriented' card and avoided answering anything. They had confiscated my wand while unconscious, so I couldn't escape."

"You never were very good with the wandless stuff," Dung noted. There was a lot of stuff Charlemagne wasn't very good at—which was a blessing for George since he had plenty of excuses for stupidity. Now that George thought about it, Charlemagne was a lot like a Lockhart that didn't rely on good looks but rather plain old charisma.

"I tried to escape, but stupid unforeseeable circumstances prevented each attempt. In the second one, my wand got snapped by someone who thought I believed myself to be a vampire hunter and that the wand was a wooden stake."

"Muggles are so stupid."

George didn't reply to that. "The last attempt I got away of course, but one of the guards shot a hole in my ear. I was all over the local Muggle news and it took a fair bit of coin I had hid away for emergencies to get the story expunged from their memory. That took longer than I thought it would and, in the meantime, I ended up getting a Muggle operation to change my physical appearance, albeit with a little magical help. The ear wasn't salvageable because previously I got someone to shoot the most obscure dark curse they knew at it so I could claim it was a war injury. I fluctuated for a long time between the Muggle and magical worlds and I somehow lost myself. Then I remembered you—and don't you dare ask me how I could have possibly forgotten you because I don't even know—and I decided to come back to Britain. I know there was something traumatic that must have happened to me somewhere in all of that, but it was either someone erased the memory except for the subconscious parts or I managed to suppress the memory myself."

"Wow, Charlemagne. That's just… wow."

"It is quite a lot to take in, isn't it?" George agreed. "We have plenty of time for you to ask me all about what I can remember, but the server is going to wonder why she can't make out anything we say." George removed the Muffliato charm and he greeted the witch who had just brought him and Dung their food, (George had decided he was hungry and felt that dinner instead of drinks would be more embarrassing for Dung) speaking as jovially as James Oliver would. Dung was having a harder time broadcasting enthusiasm, but the veil luckily masked his facial expressions.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore found Mundungus only a day after his "date" with Charlemagne. They tended to not talk much, so if the Headmaster was seeking him out, it had to be important.

"Mr. Fletcher, I understand that you have become friendly with one James Oliver," Dumbledore started.

"I've talked to him a couple of times," Mundungus replied with a shrug.

"I wonder why you did not submit his name to me as one who came recently to magical Britain."

Mundungus swore mentally. So Dumbledore was serious about finding this raccoon guy. "He doesn't fit your profile."

"And I would guess that he fits it better than any individuals I gave learned of," Dumbledore replied.

"He doesn't have a raccoon Patronus," Mundungus assured the professor.

"Oh?" Dumbledore asked with a raised eyebrow. "And what form does it take?"

Mundungus was about to say that there wasn't a form, but quickly realized that that excuse was stupid—a form could be suppressed if the memory fueling it was no good. "A firefly," he replied. If Charlemagne had to demonstrate later, Mundungus could claim that he thought the wisps looked like a firefly. That of course meant Charlemagne had to have at least gotten to that point in casting the charm, but Mundungus had enough faith in the only man who called him Dung to pull it off.

"A firefly? Really? It's so rare to have a non-mammalian or non-avian Patronus. I wonder what it signifies…" Dumbledore trailed off.

"Maybe he's a light in the darkness?" Mundungus suggested. "Or he views himself as an insignificant speck?"

"The former, if his decidedness towards the darkness of society is any indication."

The hair on Mundungus' back flared in irritation. "You're insulting my way of life again."

"I apologize, Mr. Fletcher. I was merely indicating that many who chose paths similar to your own have become darker people more likely to follow dark wizards."

"You-Know-Who got good grades in school, didn't he?"

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes—just a fraction, but Mundungus could still see it. "That's quite irrelevant and you know it."

"I'm just saying that light and dark can be found anywhere," Mundungus replied.

Dumbledore sighed. "I suppose you _would_ know that better than most."

* * *

"How does he keep predicting our plans?" Fred asked his two best friends. They had just executed their eighteenth prank against the Saintlike One; this one, like the previous seventeen, had ended in failure. "Dumbledore said that we aren't being surveilled by magic. We keep switching where we plot the pranks. What are we missing?"

"Maybe he just thinks we're predictable," Lee suggested.

"Who expects to wake up tied up upside-down being pelted by Bowtruckles or on the Giant Squid or in a barrel of Cornish Pixies?"

"Apparently the Saintlike One," George said. "Maybe we should randomize the process."

"How?" Lee asked. "Pick a spell, a place, and a trap out of a hat and try to combine them?"

Fred shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

Ten minutes later, they began pulling parchment from their hats.

"Alohomora," Fred read his scrap of parchment.

"Surrounded by gnomes," Lee read.

"The Quidditch Pitch," George said. "This is going to be interesting."


	9. Chapter 9

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, who isn't me. The only profit I get from this is personal satisfaction.

* * *

Met their Match

* * *

George decided to risk watching the Quidditch game between Gryffindor and Slytherin. He was a tad put out that he'd never got the chance to suggest to Young George and Fred to try out for their respective Quidditch teams, as the tryouts happened during his month without possession. Hopefully they would try out next year as George and his timeline's Fred had done.

Gryffindor was being badly trounced by Slytherin, to George's sorrow but not his surprise. This would be Slytherin's fourth consecutive season of winning the Quidditch Cup and it would be four more years before Gryffindor took first. Charlie was doing his best to get the snitch as fast as he could, but luck was never in his favor when it came to Quidditch. Charlie was the Seeker he was only from long hours of practice, not like Harry who could practically spot the snitch from anywhere in the field without even trying. It was just the fact that the Gryffindor chasers were no good and something horrible always seemed to put Charlie in the hospital wing the week of the final match—Charlie hadn't been able to win Gryffindor the cup since his second year. George, for the longest time, had honestly thought his brother's curse had passed onto Harry until Oliver Wood's last year. Though that may have just been because the universe decided that they were defeated badly enough during the game with Hufflepuff.

George felt someone in the crowd step on his foot. He held back the pain and reminded himself that he was invisible. He'd considered just going as James Oliver, but he didn't want too many people asking questions or staring. Once the person who'd probably bruised his toes moved out of his line of sight, he noticed movement on the ground of the pitch. It looked like his young pranking adversaries were up to something—and for once he had no idea what that something was.

As a precaution, George summoned a Shooting Star that he knew would be in the broom cupboard since no one ever used those things during a match if they could at all help it. When he tasted pumpkin juice in his mouth, he quickly cast Carpe Retractum on the broom that was still coming towards him and sent it on an arc that would put it on the ground of the pitch near Young George. This time, he refrained from using Legilimency and the Imperius Curse (which _had_ proved successful in providing him with control of his older body) on himself—focusing on two bodies in this instance would probably make things ten times more difficult than usual.

George found himself on the pitch surrounded by several chests that were moving. Fred and Lee magically opened each of them and gnomes jumped out and tackled him. _Well, I guess this _is_ original,_ he conceded. George cast Flipendo on a gnome, picked him up, and took the nearby broom up to throw the stupid creature at the Slytherin players who hadn't noticed him yet. He repeated the process with several gnomes despite Madam Hooch's protests. Even on a substandard broom he could fly circles around any of the players except maybe Charlie, but instead he tried to keep most of his movements compatible with his eleven-year-old self's. One of the Beaters then got the bright idea to stop George by hitting a Bludger towards him. George took the gnome in his hand and used it like a bat to hit it back towards the Beater. Only when George had dealt with all the gnomes did he come down from the broom.

"Mr. Weasley!" Professor McGonagall cried as she stormed the pitch. "I will not allow you to continue such reckless and disrespectful behavior! Fifty points from your House and the Houses of your conspirators and detention for two months for the lot of you!"

"Yes, professor," George said meekly. He'd have to talk to Fred about having him be the one in detention later as it _was_ his fault.

"I don't suppose you'll tell me what possessed you to perform such a stunt?" the professor asked.

George held back a snort at the irony and replied, "My Holeyness kind of left my body for a few minutes. I'm the only one at fault here, so don't punish my brother or Lee or anyone else for what I just did."

McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "I will take off two weeks of detentions for Mr. Jordan and your twin brother, but expect no more from me."

"Thank you, professor." _She always was my favorite teacher…_

McGonagall looked like she was about to say something more but wasn't sure if she should.

"Was there something else?" George prompted.

"I must admit that you have quite the arm, Mr. Weasley," she said finally. "If you seek a position on the Gryffindor team, I am inclined to let you once you develop the discipline to not continue your shenanigans."

George shook his head. "I didn't show up at tryouts so I'll have to wait until next year. You can wait to have a first-year on your team a couple more years. And there is, of course, the fact that everyone is deluded that I have been sorted into Slytherin so I would have to be on their team. Officially, anyway."

McGonagall's mouth twitched. "You and your conspirators will meet me in my office for your detention. Now I strongly suggest that you leave the pitch so Madam Hooch may have the players resume the game."

Fred and Lee met up with George behind the stands. "You have guts, Saint," Lee said.

"I also have made it incredibly likely that you and your brother will play as Beaters next year," George replied. "You're welcome."

"Did you play before?" Fred asked.

"I did," George said, "but I highly doubt you will find my name on any of the school records."

"Why not?" Lee asked.

"The only records of mine in existence are forgeries," George said truthfully. "The citation that goes into your brother's file for me will be the most accurate record of my existence you will find anytime soon. I wish I'd done it when I went to Hogwarts. I'm just sad George had to miss it, though. If you have a not-enchanted vial, I'll donate the memory for him to look at."

"You want to _give us_ your memories?" Fred asked, his mouth agape.

"George is going to seem like he has something seriously wrong with his brain when he has no memories of certain events. If George wants more, he can name the terms, but it'd be cruel for him not to know what throwing gnomes at Slytherins on a broom is like. I'll take the detention since it wasn't his fault, but you two have six weeks of it. Or maybe I'll just take the extra weeks McGonagall gave me since I know he helped you plan this crazy prank. Though, out of curiosity, what did you expect me to do?"

Fred shrugged. "I dunno, have all your beans stolen? We just drew things from a hat so you'd stop predicting everything we do."

"Keep doing that," George suggested. "I had no idea what to expect when I saw you on the Quidditch pitch."

"Wait, were you…actually _here_?" Fred asked.

"Haven't missed the Gryffindor-Slytherin game for almost twenty years," George replied.

"So, if George wanted, you could show him those memories too, right?" Lee asked.

George shook his head. "I'm not prepared to divulge any memories that have not occurred in this body. If either of you ever completely trust me, I'll give you any memory you want."

"You're trying to bribe us again," Fred said.

"Good, you noticed," George said. "I'm not expecting you to trust me for a good long time, but I don't think I've lied to you directly yet."

"You've claimed to be George Weasley more times than I can count," Fred said flatly.

"Look at me. I _am_ George Weasley. I'd claim it under Veritaserum if you have any lying around."

"Would you also claim to be who you are in the real world while under it?" Lee asked.

"Probably not," George admitted. "I did say that all my records are forgeries, didn't I?"

"You know what I mean."

"Veritaserum could work to divulge my secrets, should it be required it of me," George admitted. "I'd really rather not, though, and I will not let it be administered to me without a fight. How would you feel if Dumbledore gave it to you and forced you to recount every embarrassing thing you ever did and do it in front of Professor Snape?"

"Why would Snape be there?" Fred asked.

"Maybe because he's the Potions Master?" George deadpanned.

"Right, dumb question. But Professor Dumbledore has good judgment. He'd never let something like that to happen under his nose."

"He'd let Snape get away with murder with just a 'please' standing in the way," George retorted. He knew he was taking things out of context, but Snape seemed like such a quintessential villain on the surface that he was the perfect scapegoat. "Snape as good as sent Voldemort after the Potter family and has a Dark Mark if you know how to find it. This is the man whom Dumbledore trusts implicitly. Still trust them to be fair to George?"

"I trust them far more than I trust you," Fred replied.

"That will change. I can be patient."

* * *

It was George's second Hogsmeade weekend since starting work at the Hog's Head, but last time Fred and Young George didn't have the Marauder's Map. Unless George had managed to change the timeline substantially, the twins would explore every building in town and that meant they would see George for the first time. Well, "James Oliver," but close enough.

Fred, George, and Lee came in just after 3 o'clock. Fortunately there was no one else around so he had good reason to devote his entire attention to the prankster trio.

"You three look a little young to be from the Hogwarts group," George said.

"We're just looking," Fred said.

"If you're interested in staying a while," George said, "you won't find cheaper rates anywhere in Hogsmeade."

"I can see why," Lee said as he poked a nearby mothball with his wand.

"No, we sell stuff here I'd eat any day for great prices!" George said. Well, he _did_ eat the stuff, at least. "We just never change the look of this place since most of the customers find it nostalgic. Aberforth's been working here longer than anyone except Dumbledore's contemporaries can remember. Me working here at all is a big change and everyone's still getting used to it. Anyway, do you want a drink while you're here?"

"Okay," Fred said and the three boys sat down.

"What would you like? We've got Butterbeer, pumpkin juice, Gillywater, hot chocolate, and a bunch of things I doubt any of you are ready for. So what'll it be?"

"Three Butterbeers, please," Lee said.

After George took their money and provided them with drinks, there still weren't any other customers to worry about so George sat with them and started transfiguring the candles into flowers again. Aberforth knew the transfiguration wasn't permanent so he didn't mind anymore as long as they were functional by sundown.

"I like to get to know who I serve, so would you mind telling me a little about yourselves?" George asked.

"I'm Fred Weasley," Young George said, "and this is my brother George and our friend Lee."

"Were you three behind the interruption of the recent Hogwarts Quidditch game?" George asked. They nodded. "That was really reckless, you know. Although I must admit that I wish I'd seen it all happen. I don't get out much—too many people staring at the ear, you know," George said as he tapped his finger on the old scar tissue.

"How did you lose it?" Young George asked.

"My brother and I were fighting in the war. We were flying away from a bunch of You-Know-Who's followers who were trying to kill us and some of our good friends. The nicest Death Eater of the bunch nailed a dark cutting curse on me and the wound refused every healing treatment we tried on it. So now I'm deaf in one ear and the other one has to work twice as hard to make up for it. I got lucky. My brother and so many others died before Harry Potter saved us all. It's going to be weird when he starts attending Hogwarts in a couple years."

"Oi, Fred," Fred said, obviously not wanting to think too long about the war if he didn't have to, "did you ever realize that Ron's going to be in the same class as Harry Potter?"

"This was the first time you thought about it?" Young George asked.

"Well, maybe, but this is the first time I got it, you know?"

"I suggest you don't think about it too much," George said. "Rumor has it that young Harry is growing up with a Muggle family with no clue that he's the most famous kid of our world. Anyone who treats him as 'just Harry' is going to make him a lot more comfortable than someone who wants to be friends with the Boy-Who-Lived. He doesn't know the first thing about who You-Know-Who even is, much less how he defeated him. Unless Harry had some innate terrible power even worse than the wizard who tried to kill him, I'm guessing those who protected him had a lot more to do with the end of the war."

"What sort of powers could Harry Potter have?" Lee asked.

"I'm sure we'll all find out once he starts school and rejoins the wizarding world," George replied. "I've got one sickle that says love killed You-Know-Who and another that says Harry's got darkness living inside of him, so I'll probably not make any money but I'll have the bragging rights, at least. I don't make bets with eleven-year-olds, though, so you can come back when you're of age and try to out-predict me." George knew he was being hypocritical, as he and Fred had made that bet against Bagman back at the World Cup, but it really wasn't fair to bet against himself when he knew the future.

"How did you realize how old we were?" Young George asked.

"I know who you are, remember? You used gnomes to attack the Slytherin team, George," George said.

"He's not George, I am!" Fred insisted.

"Did I mix you up already?" George asked. To their credit, Fred and Young George did not give away that he "accidentally" identified them correctly. "But why would you attack your own Quidditch team?" George asked as he pointed to the green trim on the robes Fred wore.

"Because it's a stupid house," Young George muttered.

"I'll have you know that I am friends of former members of all houses and will not tolerate bad mouthing about any of them," George said more sternly than he actually felt. If he wasn't James Oliver, he'd be bad mouthing Slytherin too, and with a wider vocabulary to boot.

"Sorry, sir," Young George said.

"Apology accepted so long as you never call me 'sir' again. Call me James or Oliver or James Oliver or anything else you think fits, but never think of me as an authority figure. Authority figures have their wand stuck up their rear and think they're amazing."

"Not all authority figures," Fred retorted.

"No, not all," George agreed. "Dumbledore is a lot humbler than one in his position is likely to be. Still, although I probably haven't met any other authority figures you've interacted with, You-Know-Who is a narcissistic authority figure if there ever were one, and so are a lot of the Ministry higher-ups."

"Dad hates Lucius Malfoy," Fred said. "He reckons he bought himself out of Azkaban and into Fudge's ear."

"Most Muggles would scream 'corruption!' if they knew how messed up our government was and insist upon reform," George said. "They're a lot more intelligent than most wizards give them credit for. Of course, most governments tend to be awful anyway, but—"

"James!" Aberforth said. "Are you exerting more influence than you should on such impressionable young minds?"

"I'm just encouraging to think for themselves," George insisted. "Expose them to various opinions and let them decide for themselves and whatnot."

"Well, you've been ignoring the four people who have come in since you sat down. Get to work!"

"Okay," George replied. To the first-years, he said, "I hope to see you three at the Hog's Head in the future."

"I think you will," Young George replied.

George went to take care of the other customers but he kept his ear on the prankster trio.

"I liked that guy," Lee said. "He reminds me of an older version of one of you." George almost choked on his spit.

"What are you talking about?" Young George asked.

"He's absolutely nothing like us! He's a black-haired Muggle-born who fought in the war and has one ear."

"I just felt like you might be related to him," Lee said with a shrug.

"Lee, the only way we're going to have a black-haired Weasley is if our sister Ginny marries Harry Potter like she's fantasized since she was three," Fred said.

"Besides, we're purebloods and he's a Muggle-born. Whatever resemblance you think you see is _definitely_ a coincidence."

"Okay, okay!"

* * *

It was the day before Fred, George, and the other Weasleys would travel home for Christmas. Fred, George, and Lee were on their way to the last detention of the year (thanks to the Saintlike One) and fortunately it would be the last one they went to for that particular prank (also thanks to the Saintlike One). The twins had decided to let the Saint take the two weeks of January alone, partly as a sign of trust, but mostly on the off chance that the Saint pranked them while they were all stuck together in a room.

"George?" Fred asked. "Were we ever going to tell Charlie about your little problem?"

"Oh. I guess we haven't done that yet, have we? We should. And we should tell Bill too, while he's home for Christmas."

"What about the rest of your family?" Lee asked.

"Not Mum: she'd go crazy if she knew," Fred said.

"And not Ron or Ginny either," George added. "They'll probably tell someone on accident. And not Percy either. Dad might be okay, but he might tell Mum."

"So just Charlie and Bill for now," Fred said. "Last day of the break?"

"Sounds good," George replied. "We don't want the Saintlike One messing with Christmas, after all."

* * *

On Christmas Day, George was grateful that the Trickster made him unemotional about his family back in the other timeline or he'd be a nervous wreck. He was, nevertheless, fairly depressed that he would have to spend Christmas without any family whatsoever. He was almost tempted to go find Mum's squib cousin, but that would just be awkward for both of them.

Mundungus was spending his Christmas swindling people, as they were most generous and therefore easier pickings for him. George would have gone along if Dung and James Oliver weren't allowed to be seen in public together. Dung offered to let George borrow the veil he'd used on their "date," but George had slightly more dignity than his friend and politely refused.

That, of course, left Aberforth. The old wizard told him to take the holiday off, but George insisted on working. The only other option on George's list would be sulking in the Shrieking Shack alone, and it was better to be busy than do that.

He cast Legilimens and the Imperius Curse on himself at the start of the shift, as was now a habit with him. George wasn't good enough at balancing his two selves to stop every narcoleptic attack, but he was good enough that if Dumbledore was watching him, he'd have an alibi most of the time. Of course, Fred and Young George hadn't summoned him at all since they went home for the holidays, so controlling his body probably wouldn't be a problem. His emotions, on the other hand, were another story. He had to use every bit of Occlumency he knew (which admittedly wasn't much) to keep himself from betraying his feelings in front of Aberforth and the customers. At the very least, he didn't cry and no one asked if anything was wrong with him.

At the end of the night, George assisted Aberforth in carrying out a drunken man who was still singing a surprisingly on-key rendition of "Greensleeves," albeit with the wrong lyrics. As soon as they locked everything up, Aberforth's expression softened from his grumpy norm.

"You've had a very difficult day, haven't you?"

"Why do you say that?" George asked far too quickly.

"The only people who come to the Hog's Head on Christmas have no one else to be with and you are no exception," the old wizard replied.

George sighed. "It was better here than it might have been anywhere else. Busy minds don't have to feel anything."

Aberforth sighed. "Next time just drink yourself silly. That doesn't mean you're free to raid all of my good stuff, but I _did_ offer you a day off."

"You have good stuff?" George asked. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Aberforth chuckled. "That's more like the James I know."

* * *

"Bill? Charlie? Can you come up to our room for a minute?"

The two eldest Weasley children exchanged glances but decided to humor their twin brothers. The twins could prank worse than Peeves, but Charlie was of age now—as was Bill—and they should be able to handle whatever crazy thing two eleven-year-old boys without wands threw at them.

"What we're about to tell you does not leave this room," Fred—or at least who Charlie was pretty sure was Fred—said. "Don't say a word of this to Mum or Dad or anybody who doesn't already know."

"As long as you haven't done something illegal, then sure," Bill said. Charlie voiced his agreement.

"Okay," George said. "Charlie, do you remember how I was acting really weird the day I got sorted?"

"Into Slytherin, you mean?" Charlie asked. "Yeah, but we all were pretty weirded out by you being tossed somewhere you don't belong."

"Did you ever find out why the Sorting Hat did that?" Bill asked.

"We knew from the beginning," Fred said. "And George and I should both have been in Gryffindor with the rest of the family. But George wasn't himself when he went under the hat."

"What do you mean?" Bill asked.

George took a deep breath. "I was being possessed."

"What."

"Ever since that day, this guy who calls himself the Saintlike One has had the ability to possess me. I'm usually not him, but when I am, I have no memory of it and Fred has to tell me what happened. Like with the gnomes at the Quidditch game."

"That wasn't really you?" Charlie asked. "I thought you were just escalating your war against Slytherin."

"We've tried to pull pranks on him," Fred said, "but we haven't got him yet. He's crazy good at avoiding anything and everything."

"How often does this 'Saintlike One' manifest himself?" Bill asked.

"It's weird," Fred said. "Not even Dumbledore knows how it ended up like this, but George changes every time he drinks pumpkin juice."

Silence. Then Charlie and Bill started laughing. "You can't be serious," Charlie choked out.

"You were taking them seriously this while time?" Bill laughed. "You know we can't trust anything these two scalawags say."

"Fred," George said with a voice of stone. "Get your pumpkin juice."

Fred already had the vial in his hand. "See you soon." Fred drank.

* * *

"Bill, Charlie, meet the Saintlike One," Fred said.

George could tell that his older brothers weren't exactly believing. They had genuine smiles on their faces and Bill was still chuckling. It almost made George cry, seeing Bill whole again. But Fred wanted to prove that George wasn't his normal eleven-year-old self, so he hid his emotion in the void that he had developed Christmas Day.

"Accio wand," George said. Mum had confiscated his wand earlier, as she always did on the holidays. Once the familiar stick was in his hands, he cast the spell that he was making a habit of using to prove his identity. "Expecto Patronum." A ghostly raccoon appeared.

The eldest Weasleys were struck dumb. "Told you so," Fred said.

Bill recovered first. "I need more proof. There's no reason George should be unable to learn a Patronus."

"My summoning my wand without your Mum noticing wasn't enough?" George asked. "Fine. Duel me."

"You're underage and—"

"Young George is. I'm not. At least let me show off a bit to prove it to you."

"Cast a Protean Charm," Charlie suggested. George remembered Charlie trying with frustration to cast it the last time he was in control, so the future dragonologist would be convinced if an apparent eleven-year-old did it with ease.

"Not all adult wizards can do that—especially those who didn't get their Charms O.W.L. Lucky for you, though, I can." George grabbed a couple pieces of parchment and cast the spell. He wrote on one, _Tell George when he wakes up that he can use this to talk to me if he wants._ He showed his brothers the other document and, sure enough, the duplication was perfect. George folded the original parchment into a paper airplane and sent it flying out the window. It would continue to fly until it reached the dispenser George had left above the Fat Lady's portrait. Now all he had to do was sneak into Hogwarts again and retrieve it. He always knew that leaving the dispenser there would come in handy.

"You're not our brother," Charlie breathed.

"I prefer to be called the Saintlike One," George replied.

"Why are you doing this to him?" Bill asked.

_Uh oh. Their big-brother instinct is activating,_ George thought. "I can't tell you." He was about to add more, but Charlie and Bill were already on the offensive. George silently disarmed them both and flung them upside-down by their ankles. "Anything you do to me while I'm in control will be felt by your brother when he returns," George whispered. "I don't hurt him and you wouldn't either. I'm here to save lives. I won't say anything more until I've earned complete trust."

"Do you believe him?" Bill asked Fred.

"It's safer not to," Fred replied with a shrug.

"And here lies the crux of the matter," George said. "No one trusts me because I don't tell them anything about me and I refuse to say anything about myself since no one trusts the validity of my statements. I think it'll be a few more years before you trust anything that comes out of my mouth, but when you do, I've got plenty to say."

"Do you really think we'll ever trust you?" Charlie asked.

"I do," George said as he let his brothers back down. "I have very good reasons for intruding on your lives. Fred's already told Dumbledore what I told him about Voldemort's Horcruxes. The really big stuff I'm keeping to myself right now, but I'll help with anything anyone needs."

"Even if we _need_ to get rid of you?" Charlie spat.

"If that's how it has to be, I'll have to find other ways of doing what I need to do," George replied.

"Are you going to possess some other defenseless kid?" Bill asked.

"No," George said adamantly. "George is the only one I have any jurisdiction over. Don't ask 'why him' because you're not ready for the answer. I have a life of my own, but there are distinct advantages to being George Weasley." Primarily the fact that if he _wasn't_ George Weasley, he'd definitely been making a mistake for about 40 years.

"Fred, can you get rid of him?" Charlie asked. "Now, before I hurt George?"

"Goodbye," George said as Fred grabbed his pumpkin juice. "Happy Christmas."

* * *

"George," Charlie said once he was sure that the so-called Saintlike One was gone, "you're officially my hero."

"Uh, thanks," George said. "What did I do again?"

"You deal with this guy in your head and you've never let it get to you. I'd be barking mad by now if it happened to me."

"It gets to me," George whispered. "All the time, it gets to me."

"I'd appreciate it," Fred cut in, "if we don't talk about this unless something big happens."

"You're playing a dangerous game, Fred," Bill cautioned. "I'd feel much better if you stopped contact with him permanently."

"Me too," Charlie agreed. "The most dangerous creatures can be the ones who convince you that they aren't a threat before they kill you."

Fred suddenly felt sheepish. He'd let his prank war on the Saintlike One make a foothold for him to use to serve his secret, almost certainly unSaintlike plans. "You're right," Fred said. "We were being stupid and I'm going to stop drinking pumpkin juice from now on."

"Didn't you promise that he'd go to detention for me for the Quidditch stunt?" George asked. "We don't know what he'll do if we go back on our word."

"Fine," Fred said. "He can do that but we won't tell him until it's over that he's never coming back."


	10. Chapter 10

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, who isn't me. The only profit I get from this is personal satisfaction.

* * *

Miscalculation

* * *

George went to detention alone. He walked slowly, so as to enjoy the nostalgia of being at Hogwarts before the remodel that was necessary after the Battle of Hogwarts. He passed by the staff room and heard voices.

"Where did Dumbledore go this time? The Ministry?"

"No. He only mentioned it once and kind of mumbled it, but I think it was some kind of shack."

"The Shrieking Shack?"

"No, I think it started with a G."

_No, _George thought. He opened the door to find Trelawney and Sinistra talking. "Was it Gaunt Shack, by any chance?"

"That's it!" Trelawney declared. George bolted out of the room. _Dumbledore has gone to kill himself. Why didn't I warn him about the dangers of Gaunt's Ring? I am such an idiot!_

"Expecto Patronum!" he shouted. _Dumbledore, do not touch the resurrection stone or the ring it's on. If you haven't, send your Patronus back to George Weasley. If I don't get word from you, I'll assume the worst and bring Severus to you._

He wasted no time in searching for the resident Dark Arts expert and found Snape patrolling the corridors.

"Why in such a hurry—" Snape started to ask.

"No time!" George said. "Do you have basilisk venom?"

"I keep a little, but—"

"Accio! Snape, if there's anything you need to fight off a nasty dark curse from a ring, get it now. Do you know where Gaunt Shack is?"

"No."

George swore under his breath. _Where could we find out where to go? The Pensieve! Whatever-his-name-Gaunt's memory should still be in there!_ "Meet me in Dumbledore's office. If you dawdle, he'll die."

Snape understood and flew towards his stores and hopefully grabbed the basilisk venom that George summoned on the way. George, with his body's short legs, ran as fast as he could to the Headmaster's office.

"Mr. Weasley!" McGonagall said just as George arrived at the gargoyle. "You are supposed to be in detention!"

"I need to get into Dumbledore's office right now."

"He's not here—"

"I know that!" George snapped. "He went off to Gaunt Shack and he's going to get himself killed."

"Calm down—" McGonagall said.

"Time is of the essence," Snape said as he came down the corridor to the gargoyle. "Gummy bears. Move it, Weasley."

"Severus, I—"

"Trust my judgment, Minerva." Snape and George ran up the stairs to Dumbledore's office. George went straight for the Pensieve, but it was empty.

George swore loudly. His eyes darted around, looking for anything that could help him. Dumbledore had too many useless doohickeys. Then he saw the firebird on the perch looking at him funny.

"Fawkes. Can you find Dumbledore?" The phoenix nodded. "You need to take us to him or he will die."

"Weasley, you're—" Snape's comment was cut off as George grabbed him and Fawkes' tail and they burst into flames. The flames died and they were next to a semi-conscious Dumbledore lying in rubble.

"You came," Dumbledore breathed.

George felt something tear at his back. He turned to see a horde of charmed skeletons attacking. Snape looked conflicted about helping the man who looked like a first year or the old wizard trembling on the ground, so George made the decision for him.

"Snape, you take care of Dumbledore. I'll take care of the skeletons."

George put up a shield charm around the two professors and summoned fire. It scorched the bones, but they just kept on coming. Apparently charmed skeletons were harder to kill than Inferi, at least in large numbers. Why Voldemort didn't use them all the time was a question to ask when he had time to think philosophically.

George attacked the skeletons with every spell he could think of. Once he had a spare second, he quickly checked on those he was protecting. Snape looked completely clueless.

"Kill the ring with the venom!" he told Snape.

"I can't, Weasley! They are connected—it will destroy him too!"

"He's the greatest wizard alive and I am _not_ going to let him die because you have no idea what to do!"

Fawkes began singing. It dropped something in front of George. _The Sorting Hat. _ Gryffindor's sword appeared from inside of it. "I guess I'm Harry freaking Potter now," George muttered as he chopped the nearest skeleton in half and ran to Snape and Dumbledore. George grabbed the venom and poured it on the sword. Snape was about to protest again when George slammed the blade into the stone on the ring.

"Your turn," George told Snape as he took the sword against the skeletons again. George felt like he was channeling the spirit of Godric Gryffindor as he sliced foe after foe in half. But the skeletons just kept coming and George's young body was quickly tiring.

"Enough, Saintlike One," Dumbledore said. "I am stable enough now. Fawkes, help us get out of here."

George sprinted to his two companions and the phoenix once again burst into flames.

* * *

"Saintlike One, you have a lot of explaining to do."

George ignored the Headmaster. "How long does he have?" he asked Snape.

"Probably two and a half years."

George swore again. "I'm such an idiot. I should have said something earlier, but _no,_ I've got to make sure the universe forgets I exist! A year and a half more? That ruins everything!"

"I believe I said there would be two and a half," Snape said.

"If you already had Gryffindor's sword and I wasn't here to realize the danger, Dumbledore would be dead within a year," George retorted. "But it's not enough. It'll _never_ be enough because the one wizard who the world trusts with their lives other than Harry Potter will be dead while the Boy-Who-Lived is still a first year!"

"You knew what I was going to do tonight," Dumbledore said. "You knew there was a Horcrux and yet you risked your life to save mine. Who are you, Saintlike One?"

"I'm George Weasley," George replied.

"Saint George is more like it," Dumbledore said. "But I must ask: do you know where Voldemort's other Horcruxes are?"

George paused. "Why do you trust me now?"

"Many reasons. For one, I can see that you are a true Gryffindor. You wouldn't have been able to summon his sword if you weren't."

"That is true," the Sorting Hat agreed. "I apologize for assuming you belonged in Slytherin."

Snape muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like "blatant favoritism."

George closed his eyes and sighed. "Very well. Six Horcruxes. Slytherin's locket was hidden in a cave where Tom Riddle tormented the other orphans, but it was taken by Regulus Black, who defected shortly before his death. The locket is now in the possession of the house-elf Kreacher at 12 Grimmauld Place. Hufflepuff's cup was entrusted to Bellatrix Lestrange and it's probably in her vault. Riddle's diary was entrusted to Lucius Malfoy, who knows that it can be used to open the Chamber of Secrets; my best guess for its location is under the Malfoy drawing room floor. Ravenclaw's diadem is somewhere in the Room of Requirement here at Hogwarts, in the 'room of hidden things' version of it. You already found Gaunt's Ring and you now possess all the Deathly Hallows, but you will never be Master of Death."

"I understand that now," Dumbledore said solemnly.

"And the sixth Horcrux?" Snape asked.

"Voldemort himself hasn't realized he made it yet. Back on Halloween of 1981. Harry Potter."

"So, to destroy the Dark Lord, the boy must die?" Snape asked coldly.

"In a matter of speaking, yes," George replied. "Before you start screaming about what that all means, I think there's a way around it. Voldemort wants a body again and if he has a choice, he will use Harry's blood to do so. If Voldemort then attempts to kill Harry again, the blood will tether him to this world while destroying the Horcrux."

"You are insane," Snape declared.

"Trust me. It'll work."

"I think it will," Dumbledore said. "I still wonder, though, how you learned all of this."

"I have been forbidden to speak of it for at least one year after the possessions began. You should be aware, though, that I believe the young Weasley twins have a right to know before you do. Just because I have entrusted you with information does not mean that I fully trust you. You were stupid enough to put on the ring, after all."

"I trust you," Dumbledore said. "That is enough."

* * *

"Dumbledore trusts you now?" Fred cried. "Is he insane?"

"Many have questioned his sanity, but he was quite sane after he realized I saved his life," the Saintlike One replied.

"You've probably bewitched Snape and Dumbledore," Fred concluded.

"I thought you knew me better by now," the Saintlike One said. "And I doubt that there's a witch or wizard alive who could mentally battle either of them and win."

"There's a better chance of that than you being a Gryffindor," Fred muttered.

The Saintlike One sighed. "September," he whispered. "Next September and I can tell you everything."

"What?"

"I started possessing your brother September 1st. If we get to that point again, I will tell you everything you want to know about me. Anytime before then and the universe just might end. Literally. For now, take my memory of what's happened tonight," the Saintlike One said as he removed some wisps from his head and placed them in a vial. "Hopefully this will help you trust me between now and Confession Day."

Fred scoffed. _Just shut up you tricky git._ Before the Saintlike One could stop him, Fred took a quick swig of pumpkin juice. As the liquid went down Fred's throat, George let out a cry and crumpled to the floor.

"George!" Fred cried.

"My back..." George choked out. Fred looked and saw the hole in the back of George's shirt and a bloody gash under it. "I guess he really does have a higher tolerance for pain than me."

"Come on, let's get you to Madam Pomfrey," Fred said as he took his twin's arm around his neck and crushed the vial of the Saintlike One's memories underfoot. He could not bear the thought of knowing what the Saintlike One did to hurt George.

Halfway to the Hospital Wing, Fred felt pumpkin juice enter his mouth. _So did the Saintlike One finally remember that George is hurt and want to apologize or is he just mad I shut him up? I guess it doesn't matter, since I'm not letting him come back_, Fred thought as he spit the pumpkin juice on the floor.

_Bill and Charlie were right. That evil Saint hurts everything sooner or later._

* * *

George swore at himself again. He'd forgotten to take care of the injury he'd gotten back at Gaunt Shack. It was nothing to him—he'd had years of Bludger bruises and other mishaps, not the least of which was losing an ear—but Young George would have a much harder time dealing with the pain. George tried to send himself back, but Fred was refusing. He'd be lucky if Fred ever trusted him again.

George grabbed his version of the parchment he enchanted at Christmas and wrote a letter to the young twins.

_Dear Fred and George,_

_I am so sorry. I forgot about when the cursed skeleton hit me—I was a little more focused on saving Dumbledore at the time and in the aftermath, healing myself was never a priority. I understand if you never want me to possess George again, and I'll do my best to respect your wishes.  
_

_I beg you, though, to give me another chance. I can tolerate not possessing George but I cannot live with myself knowing that you hate me more than Voldemort. I know from personal experience that you do indeed hate me more than the Chief Death Eater. I've been hurt too and the one who did it I truly did despise more than a Dark Lord I never had the chance to meet. But after I learned that the one who tried to hurt me was trying to protect me all along... I forgave him. I still don't like him, but he has earned my respect. I truly hope that you can offer me forgiveness too one day.  
_

_And a request: I told Dumbledore all I know about Voldemort's Horcruxes, but I still think he'll need my help in retrieving some of them. I cannot risk revealing my older self to the Headmaster before Confession Day, so you two are still my liaison with him. I would not dream of asking George to become me again, but would you allow Dumbledore to duplicate your copy of this parchment? You will be free to monitor any further contact I have with him and I can make sure that Voldemort doesn't come back and take over the world. Even one Horcrux not destroyed properly will mean that Voldie-Poo is still kicking and I can't let that happen.  
_

_Please at least let me know when you've read this message and what you decide.  
_

_All my love,  
_

_The Saintlike One  
_


	11. Chapter 11

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, who isn't me. The only profit I get from this is personal satisfaction.

* * *

Day of Tricks

* * *

Almost three months had passed and George had received no answer to the message on his parchment. Of course, Fred and Young George were hardly likely to be touching anything that belonged to the Saintlike One, but George had hoped that his apology would reach them sooner or later. Since "later" was starting to look a lot like "never," he'd have to give them a reason.

Well, it _would_ be their birthday soon. If George gave the young twins a present that would also be a present for himself, everyone could be happy.

* * *

April Fool's Day was the only day that Fred and George would actually pull a prank on one another. Fred didn't know what had started that tradition, but he and George weren't about to stop just because they were turning twelve. As far as Fred was concerned, they'd still be doing it when they were a hundred and twelve.

For once, Fred and George were sleeping in their proper respective dormitories. Any traps set could be found and deactivated before midnight of April 1st, but anything that went off after then was fair game. This year, they added the rule that the Marauder's Map was off-limits and it had thus been entrusted to Lee with the instruction that he was in no way allowed to give the Map to either of them.

So, naturally, Fred's plan was to get out of whatever traps George had placed in the Gryffindor dormitory and get Lee to divulge the location of the Map. He would have had the advantage were it not for the fact that Lee had decided to sleep outside Gryffindor Tower when he learned about the chaos that was about to ensue.

Once midnight arrived, Fred was immediately showered in confetti. That was an old one, so old that it was only done because it was tradition. Fred hopped out of bed and felt something squishy underfoot. Fred rubbed whatever it was on the blanket of his bed and carefully made his way out of Gryffindor Tower, dodging about half a dozen traps in the process.

As soon as Fred went through the portrait of the Fat Lady, a piece of parchment fell out of nowhere into his hands. The writing on it was curly and faded in and out depending on how he held it, like it wasn't entirely there. Fred adjusted it in his hands to make it legible and began to read.

_Good Morning, Future Starter!_

_I'm the Ghost of Trickster's Future. You are the first person to leave the safety of your dormitory on this Day of Tricks and this means you are eligible for a fabulous prize! What is that prize, you might ask? Well, it's a _sur_-prize. Ha-ha!_

_If you want your sur-prize, please complete the challenge outlined on this piece of parchment. If you are boring and have boring things to do, go ahead with your boring plans and__ return to your primitive tribe and send back someone better suited for pranking_. If, however, you want to prove you are the greatest prankster in the castle, I can help you with that.

_Here is a list of tasks that need not be done in this order (however, you should note that some have specific deadlines and once the window of opportunity is gone, it's gone):_

_1. If this is before or after hours, please hide from any patrolling teachers or prefects. I know this is obvious, but if it wasn't to you, please start banging your head against the nearest wall until your brain is jolted back into common sense.____  
_

_2. First, acquire the disgusting potion that is currently sitting inside the third-floor corridor. If you acquire this potion before breakfast, convince the House-elves to use it to spike the morning pumpkin juice of the House you like least. I'd recommend putting a bit of your own hair or nail clippings into the potion first to add flavor._

_3. A bag of confiscated custard creams are currently hiding in the caretaker's office. Have an accomplice hand these out to people you like but wouldn't mind seeing looking kind of funny._

_4. Levitate at least fifty things out of various people's hands during lunch without letting them know it was you doing it._

_5. Hit your least favorite professor with the Jelly-Legs Jinx when they stand up and Mimble Wimble when they start talking._

_6. Find all twenty rubber chickens dancing around the castle and tap them with your wand._

_7. Decorate the Quidditch pitch in the manner of your choosing.  
_

_8. Get out of class for a fake illness. If you have trouble with this one, the orange and purple candies lying about are your best bet._

_9. Convince at least two Hogwarts ghosts (not me—I'm busy today) and fifteen students to play tag._

_10. Pull at least ten pranks of your choosing on your rival. If you do not have a rival, Peeves is an acceptable substitute._

_Your time starts now and ends at midnight or whenever you complete all of these tasks (whichever comes first). Finishing early may entitle you to a bonus sur-prize._

_Oh, and I am not liable for any injuries, punishments, or trace amounts of time travel that you may experience today. Have fun!_

Fred was conflicted: should he take this opportunity or should he just go on with his plans to prank George? Well, he supposed that the Ghost's challenge could supplement Fred's pranks at the very least—it never said he had to _finish_ everything on the list, after all. If Fred considered George his rival for the day, number 10 would be a cakewalk.

After a few hours of sneaking about the castle and not finding Lee or George anywhere, Fred decided to humor the Ghost of Trickster's Future and actively try to hit some of the things on the list. The third-floor corridor was set up as an obstacle course with a creepy three-headed dog puppet that would snap its wooden teeth at him if he was too slow and a three-dimensional chessboard with the king holding the potion. Fortunately Fred didn't actually have to play chess to acquire the potion that really did smell something awful. He plucked a couple hairs from his head and placed them in the potion. It looked slightly better, but Fred definitely wasn't going to drink it himself. He left it with one of the House-elves in the kitchen who had taken a liking to him and agreed to do as Fred instructed.

The Slytherins wouldn't know what hit them.

* * *

Lee hid from the twins. He just knew that they would be coming after him sooner or later. He only entered the Great Hall to grab something for breakfast and then get out of there as quickly as possible. He kept looking in every direction and ducked when he saw a bunch of red hair over by the Slytherin table. There were definitely more than two Weasley twins having breakfast over there. He saw a tired Slytherin sit down at the table and take a sip of pumpkin juice to the various redheads' protests and that Slytherin too changed into a Weasley twin. _Pumpkin juice. Why is it always pumpkin juice?_

Lee was suddenly struck with inspiration: he could try the Slytherins' pumpkin juice too and get lost in the sea of Weasleys so that the real Fred and George didn't know who to sneak up on to find the Marauder's Map. Lee casually, but quickly, walked by the Slytherin table, took a cup of pumpkin juice and, after taking a sip, slipped the drink into his pocket. There was a funny aftertaste that stuck to his tongue and he felt his skin bubble up and contort. He ran his fingers through his hair and found it had become straight and smooth. A quick trip to the bathroom to look in the mirror confirmed it.

Lee was now a Weasley.

* * *

Fred was a bit late for breakfast—he'd been chasing one of the dancing rubber chickens for almost fifteen minutes before he managed to tap it with his wand. What he found there was not what he expected: the Weasley twins had become the Weasley legion.

Fred tried to find George among all of the duplicates, but it was hard and he wasn't even sure if George was even at breakfast or not. Fred couldn't exactly use the "that twin has a mole or a freckle" trick because one of the first bits of accidental magic Fred and George had produced was to make every spot on their bodies match up and that particular bit of magic was likely to only stop working when one of them died.

Eventually, Fred settled on approaching someone who he was pretty sure was his real twin, if his facial expressions were any indication. "Any idea where the Map is?" he asked.

"Hey, no cheating," the George replied. Unless Lee had decided to impersonate George and he was better at it than Fred thought, this George was the real deal.

"I got a challenge from the Ghost of Trickster's Future," Fred said. "It's taking up my actual pranking time, so I'll take any advantage I can get. Unless, of course, you want to help with the challenge?"

"You really don't expect me to fall for that, do you?" George deadpanned.

"Nothing to fall for," Fred said as he showed George the parchment. George was careful to not touch the parchment as he read the various tasks.

"Orange and purple candy? There was a passageway by the dungeons that was full of them," George said as he pulled out a handful of sweets from his pocket. "I thought you were going to use them for something, though I had no idea what, so I was going to slip some to the Slytherins and watch what happened. But if _you_ want to try one..."

"Only if you have one too," Fred replied.

They each took a purple chew and on the count of three, they ate it. Nothing happened.

"That was anti-climactic," George said. "Maybe we're supposed to try the orange one first."

Once again, they each counted to three before eating the orange chew this time, and both promptly threw up. George put another purple one in his mouth and stopped puking, but Fred kept going.

"Give—" Fred puked, "—me—" he puked again, "—one-of-those-right—" he puked and coughed up some more, "—now!"

George waited one more hurl before giving the purple candy to Fred. "I hope we can keep these after April Fool's Day. They could come in handy."

* * *

By the end of the day, Fred and George barely managed to finish the list. It was the stupid dancing rubber chickens that took up most of the time, but they finally got them all.

"That was awesome," George said. "I hope this happens every year."

"It's Hogwarts—of course it has a ghost who only comes out to pull pranks on April Fool's Day," Fred replied. "And when we got all the Gryffindors to turn into canaries—classic!"

"Did you ever manage to find Lee?" George asked. "I know _I_ haven't seen him all day."

"I haven't either. Do you think that Lee might have done all this to protect himself?"

"It's a little out of his league, I think. Merlin, it's out of the _Saintlike One's_ league. The Ghost of Trickster's Future is real—that's all there is to it."

They heard a voice down the corridor. It was screaming. "I can't believe that rubber chickens will _actually_ be the death of me!" The person rounded the corner. They looked like a Weasley twin. "Fred, George, please stop those things!" he cried out as he hid behind the two boys, though for some odd reason, no rubber chickens followed him.

"Who are you?" Fred asked.

"It's Lee, who did you think?" the new guy said.

"So, can you tell us what you did with the Map?"

"Fine! It's under Tom Marvolo Riddle's award in the Trophy Room! Now call off the chickens! They've been chasing me all day!"

"Um, chickens stop?" Fred asked. Well, chickens still didn't appear, so maybe it worked.

George, for his part, started running for the Trophy Room and Fred quickly went after him. They entered the room and found, next to Riddle's award and the Marauder's Map, a cake with twelve burned out candle stubs and the words _Happy Birthday! From the Saintlike One (please read my parchment message!) _written on it with frosting.

"Oh. The Saintlike One sent us a cake," George said. "What are we supposed to do with it?"

"Let's stay on the safe side and get rid of it," Fred said. He called up a House-elf so he wouldn't have to have him or George touch it.

"Did Master Weasley and Master Weasley enjoy the cake?" the elf asked as he arrived. Then the elf eyed the untouched cake and frowned. "It's a very good cake—it took _five_ of us elves to make it for you. We got a note that said what kind to make and what to write on it and where to leave it and everything!"

"Does the cake have anything magical in it?" Fred asked.

"Definitely not, Master Weasley! Nothing but normal food and House-elf elbow grease is in this cake!"

"Well," George said to the House-elf kindly, "it's not like we want to waste a whole cake. We just wanted to check because it was baked on April 1st."

"Ah, yes, Master Weasley," the elf nodded knowingly. "Do you need anything else?"

"That's it," Fred said. "Thank you."

The House-elf disappeared in a puff of smoke.

"I guess we should eat this cake, huh?" George asked.

"I guess we should, even if the Saintlike One _is_ bribing us again," Fred agreed. "And I suppose we could probably read whatever he sent us—that shouldn't hurt you, at least."

"Speaking of messages, did the Ghost of Trickster's Future ever get back to you?"

"Well, the challenge showed up near the Fat Lady. Maybe we should head back to Gryffindor Tower."

When they got back to the Fat Lady's portrait, another parchment flew from above.

_Congratulations! You have won your fabulous sur-prize! It is..._absolutely nothing!_ We hope you try again next year to see if the sur-prize is different next time!_

"Well, _that_ stinks."

* * *

Aberforth looked up to see James enter the Hog's Head sometime after midnight.

"Where have you been all day?" Aberforth asked.

"It was my brother's birthday," James said as he summoned a cup and some Butterbeer. "I wanted to celebrate some traditions I had with him. It was nice."

"Just out of curiosity, when's _your_ birthday, James?"

James took a swig of his Butterbeer before answering, "September 1st."

"Just make sure that that day is a reprise of today and not Christmas. You shouldn't be depressed on your own birthday."

James smiled. "No, I have a feeling that it will be a very good day."


	12. Chapter 12

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, who isn't me. The only profit I get from this is personal satisfaction.

* * *

Imitation Parchment

* * *

Dumbledore received an owl that had two pieces of parchment attached to it. The first was a note from the Weasley twins.

_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

_The Saintlike One wants to talk to you. He has suggested that you make your own copy of the parchment attached that he has made his main way of talking to us now. We'll both be watching what happens between you two because we still think he's pulling the wool over your eyes._

_Signed,_

_Fred Weasley_

_And George Weasley_

Dumbledore sighed to himself at the discord still going on between the Weasley twins and the Saintlike One and began examining the attached parchment. Within seconds, he had his own copy and he tested the connection to make sure it worked by writing a short message.

_Hello,_

_This is Albus Dumbledore. Is this parchment copy working properly?_

A few minutes later, Dumbledore watched the Saintlike One's answer appear.

_Well it looks like there's hope for me and the twins after all. Have you made any progress on the Horcrux Hunt?_

Dumbledore dipped his quill into the inkwell and wrote his reply.

_You would understand that I am hesitant to make an attempt without your approval._

_Fair enough_, the Saintlike One wrote._ What do you want to try?_

_I thought it might be wise to ask for Andromeda Tonks' assistance in obtaining the Horcruxes in Black possession._

_Does Gringotts even know that Bellatrix is in Azkaban?_ the Saintlike One asked.

_That is unlikely. Perhaps Andromeda can enlighten them?_ Dumbledore suggested.

_And if Narcissa hears about Andromeda trying to get hold of Bellatrix's assets? No, I think you'd be better off having Nymphadora impersonate her aunt._

Dumbledore considered the idea for a moment before he saw that the Saintlike One had written more.

_Question: can Andromeda legitimately give Kreacher orders?_

_I'm afraid that only Sirius Black has any power over his family House-elf_, Dumbledore replied._ If Narcissa were on our side, Kreacher might be sympathetic, but I doubt that she would change and it is unlikely that Miss Tonks would be able to convince him that she is someone he knows and adores._

_Nymphadora's better than you give her credit for_, the Saintlike One wrote._ But I have an idea that will take care of something I've wanted to do for a while that will get us the locket. You get the cup first and as soon as it's taken care of, I'll do something that would have tightened security in all the wrong places had I done it before the cup was safe._

Dumbledore's eyebrow rose. _What are you planning?_ he wrote.

_I'd rather not say in case the twins get ideas about stopping me._ the Saintlike One wrote back._ Let's just say you've made a faulty assumption and leave it at that._

_Very well_, Dumbledore wrote reluctantly._ And the diary?_

_Let's just focus on getting the cup for now. Malfoy's security isn't going to change much after I get the locket. Oh, and did you take possession of the diadem?_

_I said I was waiting for you_, Dumbledore reminded him.

_Right. Well, since I have a slightly better idea of what to look for and a lot of it will just be busy-work, I'll get the diadem while you get the cup. Sound good?_

_It is agreed. But you've forgotten one of the Horcruxes: Mr._

The Saintlike One spilled ink on the form of address before Dumbledore could finish writing Harry Potter's name and finished it himself, in Dumbledore's hand, with,_ the Parselmouth.  
_

Dumbledore was surprised that Harry had inherited the ability to speak to snakes, but upon reflection, it did make sense, given the connection between him and Voldemort. It was far more noteworthy that the Saintlike One could mimic his handwriting—perhaps not well enough to throw off magical inspection, but certainly well enough to fool any casual observer, such as two eleven-year-old boys. And, of course, his desire to hide Harry Potter's status as a Horcrux.

_He can wait for last,_ the Saintlike One wrote in his own hand—or rather, George Weasley's hand, as he was still hiding all clues to his true identity. _It's probably for the best to let Voldemort cast the Killing Curse on him. And before I forget, you should probably be aware that if Quirrell goes on Sabbatical next year, he'll probably get possessed by Voldemort while he's dancing through Albania. You can decide whether or not you want to stop it._

_Would the manner of Quirinus' possession be similar to your own?_

_Not at all. He'd be fully conscious of Voldemort being stuck to the back of his head. If Harry kills Voldemort again and Quirrell is involved, Quirrell will end up dead._

_I would prefer to not put any lives at risk needlessly,_ Dumbledore wrote. _I will figure out what I will do about the situation on my own time and get back to you._

_Well, I don't have much more to say at the moment besides this to the twins: Hi! Thanks for letting me talk to Dumbledore! We're going to save a lot of lives together._

For one quick moment, Dumbledore considered not returning the original parchment to the Weasley twins, or at least removing all traces of this conversation, but he knew that the Saintlike One wanted to prove his trustworthiness to them and the Headmaster shouldn't get in the way of that. He placed the older parchment on the leg of the owl who was still waiting for Dumbledore to finish and sent it to the twin boys.

The next time he looked at his copy of the Saint's parchment, there were large letters on it in Fred Weasley's handwriting.

_DUMBLEDORE! YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO USE THAT PARCHMENT WITHOUT OUR PERMISSION!_

The Headmaster decided to consider the statement to _not_ be an order to relinquish his access to the Saint's parchment. He needed the Saintlike One's help and he was going to use it as long as he could. He had a feeling that the Saintlike One wouldn't use Patronus communication again (if indeed the Saint _had_ used it—Dumbledore wasn't entirely sure whether he'd hallucinated the whole thing) because, coming from his true body, it would have his true voice and the Saintlike One would not dare divulge a clue to his true identity. Dumbledore still couldn't figure out why the Saintlike One was so insistent on secrecy, but the Headmaster had already decided that he would trust and so he would continue to trust until he had a very good reason not to.

* * *

Tonks didn't expect to be approached by a couple of first-years. Nevertheless, the twin brothers of Charlie Weasley approached her on her way to dinner.

"You're Nymphadora, right?" the Slytherin one asked.

"It's Tonks," she corrected as her hair reddened a bit in annoyance.

"Dumbledore is going to ask you or your mom to break into Gringotts sometime soon," the Gryffindor one said. "We thought we should warn you."

"That's the craziest thing I've ever heard."

"No, the craziest thing you've ever heard is that the guy who possesses me sometimes is the one that told Dumbledore that you've got to destroy a cup in your aunt's vault."

"I stand corrected," Tonks said. "Will you go bother the younger students if you're so intent on convincing people you're both crazy?"

"Only if Charlie tells you that we're lying," the Slytherin Weasley said.

Tonks sighed and the sixth-year and two first-years went over to where the Gryffindor Seeker was eating dinner and took him outside the Great Hall, where they wouldn't be overheard. She did not want to become a laughingstock in front of everyone.

"Wotcher, Charlie. So I hear your younger brother is possessed," she said nonchalantly.

"You told me you wouldn't bring him back," Charlie hissed to the twin boys.

"We didn't," one of the boys replied. "We just let Dumbledore see the parchment he gave us at Christmas. George has been himself since that one detention back in January, but that git still thinks he can mess with us."

"Are you telling me that they're telling the truth?" Tonks asked.

Charlie nodded. "I didn't believe it at first either, but little Georgie's got himself haunted by a man who is crazy and dangerous—and has somehow gained Dumbledore's trust. That git deserves even less trust than Snape, yet Dumbledore either gives trust out like candy or something dark is influencing his decisions. There is absolutely no way that the Saintlike One is a good guy."

"The Saintlike One?" Tonks asked.

"That's what he calls himself."

"Well, if your brothers are right," Tonks said, "Professor Dumbledore is going to have me do something for this Saintlike One that will involve breaking into my aunt's vault."

"If you can at all avoid it, stay away from all of this," Charlie advised. "Or if you absolutely can't, try to get the Saintlike One to give himself away somehow. He doesn't know that you know about him, right?"

"He shouldn't," the Gryffindor twin said. "But that doesn't mean he doesn't. He's probably got _some_ way of spying on us that we don't know about."

Professor Sprout then approached the group. "Miss Tonks, the Headmaster has requested that you take an audience with him at his office once you are finished with your supper. As it appears that you are finished, will you please come with me?"

"I haven't eaten yet, professor," Tonks told her Head of House. "The twins ambushed me before I could even start. I'll try to be out quickly."

Sprout nodded and stood by the entrance to the Great Hall while Tonks and the three Weasleys reentered it.

"Fred, George, tell Tonks everything you know about the Saintlike One," Charlie whispered. "She needs to be ready for whatever he throws at her."

* * *

"Miss Tonks, if you would have a seat?" the Headmaster asked.

"What do you want, Headmaster? I haven't done anything wrong," Tonks said, trying to give no indication that she had earlier warning of what to expect. Her previous encounters with Professor Dumbledore were usually of a disciplinary nature, so an uninformed Tonks would probably have assumed that someone was blaming her for something she didn't do.

"No, no," Dumbledore said with a wave of his hand. "I had you come so that I may ask a favor. How much do you know about your Aunt Bellatrix?"

"I know she's crazy and in Azkaban for supporting You-Know-Who," Tonks said. "I don't remember ever meeting her and frankly I'm grateful."

"Do you have any photographs of her?" Professor Dumbledore asked.

"Why would Mum hold onto any? The Blacks disowned us. And why are you asking?"

"I may have to ask too much of you, but you may be the only one who _can_ do this." Dumbledore sighed. "It has come to my attention that Bellatrix Lestrange was placed as the guardian of something very important to Voldemort. As long as that object exists, there is a strong possibility that he will return."

"But You-Know-Who died," Tonks said. "Nothing can bring the dead back to life—haven't you always said that?"

"Voldemort, as an ally has put it, is only mostly-dead," Dumbledore said. Tonks assumed that his "ally" was the Saintlike One; she wished she could have learned more about before this meeting, but even Fred and George probably would never be able to prepare her fully. "The object I seek prevents his soul from traveling on."

"So, let me get this straight," Tonks said. "You want me to impersonate my Aunt Bellatrix to get this object that lets You-Know-Who come back? Am I right in assuming that getting caught doing this is illegal enough to land me in Azkaban for the rest of my life?"

"The object is, to the best of my knowledge, in Bellatrix's vault at Gringotts. As you are not your aunt, you accessing it _would_ technically be illegal. The most legal route would be to have your mother claim inheritance of Bellatrix's assets, but as my aforementioned ally has noted, the likelihood of your mother obtaining those assets is slim while Narcissa Malfoy is the obvious heir."

"Who _is_ this ally of yours?" Tonks asked. She figured that two mentions were enough for her to inquire further about the Saintlike One.

"He does not want his identity widely known," the Headmaster explained. "Rest assured, however, that he knows what he is talking about. Miss Tonks, I will not pretend that if you go through with this plan you will not be in any danger. Quite the contrary," Dumbledore said as he extended his hand, which Tonks now noticed was a sickly black. "I did not seek advice from my ally and this was the price I paid. Your price could be higher, but now that my ally is actively helping us, I daresay that you are most likely to come from this ordeal unscathed."

"Can't I meet this ally?" Tonks asked. "It might help me decide whether I really want to do this."

"I cannot force him. But I will ask."

"Thank you. And if that's all, I've got some homework I need to do."

* * *

After Aberforth went to bed, George snuck into Hogwarts again. He went straight for the Room of Requirement and started looking through all the junk. Unfortunately, all he knew about the Horcrux was that it was a diadem. There wasn't a souvenir of it in anyone's closet, as it had been destroyed by the Fiendfyre, so he had absolutely no idea what it looked like.

There were a surprising number of things in the room that looked like a diadem that didn't feel dark enough to be a Horcrux. Even after several hours of searching and making a pile of the wrong tiaras, he still didn't find it. Honestly, Harry was beyond lucky that he'd used the diadem to help him find something else or he'd never have found it in time. Maybe Harry naturally identified with Horcruxes or something. In any case, George wasn't going to find anything tonight, so he'd have to try again some other time.

Before hitting the sack, he took one last look at his Saintlike Parchment, as he decided to call it. Dumbledore had left a message again.

_I have discussed it with the young Weasley twins and they have granted permission for you to convince Miss Tonks to cooperate with our plan to retrieve Hufflepuff's Cup, as she is wary of the situation. The act of possession, however, is still forbidden so you may not use that to speak with her, but you may use other means. I believe Miss Tonks would be most partial to a meeting in person and I would ask you to put the necessity of destroying Horcruxes above your desire to keep your true self a secret.  
_

George grimaced to himself and began to write a message back. _I'm not revealing myself before I said I would and that is final. __If you really want to wait until September to retrieve the cup, be aware that you use valuable time unwisely. __If you prefer Nymphadora to know everything, you can show her your copy of the Saintlike Parchment, but please note that too many people knowing too much is inadvisable. I'd much prefer that Nymphadora take me on faith, but she probably would trust me about as much as if I told her that she was destined to marry a werewolf and get murdered at Hogwarts right after giving birth._

_As usual, the decision I leave to Fred and George—and if you can think of something that doesn't violate my conditions, I'll consider it._

* * *

In the end, they decided to just use the Saintlike Parchment and erase all of the previous conversations off of it. At least, that's what the twins said that had happened. Dumbledore simply gave Tonks a blank piece of parchment and told her that she could use it to talk to her the following midnight.

_Is anyone there?_ Tonks wrote at the appointed time.

_Hi!_ the Saintlike One wrote back. _I understand that you are wary about the plan to rob your aunt. What exactly is it about the plan that troubles you?_

_Um, how about the fact that it means me breaking into Gringotts?_ Tonks asked. _Or the part where I pretend to be a Death Eater?_

_Valid points_, the Saintlike One wrote. _But I think that you shouldn't have to worry so much. The hardest part will be getting Bellatrix's identification, and I think I'll have to use my own resources to get that for you. Have you ever morphed when accessing the vaults at Gringotts before?_

_I'm always morphed, or at least my hair is,_ Tonks replied. _But I _was_ forced back to what I was born with after going through the Thief's Downfall. Once I was through, though, I could change back.  
_

_And if you wear a hooded cloak__—_which you should wear anyway to prevent any human workers from recognizing you_—_the goblins probably won't notice anything. You're perfectly safe. The Saintlike One paused a moment before writing more._ Though there _is_ the dragon by the Lestrange vault, but in a worst-case scenario, you could probably ride that thing out of there._

Tonks grimaced._ That isn't exactly reassuring._

_I'm just letting you know what you're getting yourself into,_ the Saintlike One replied._ Someone has to rob Bellatrix's vault sooner or later and if it isn't you, then whoever does will have to escape on that dragon. You, however, merely have to walk in, avoid touching her treasures (since they might burn you and duplicate), use Gryffindor's sword to destroy Hufflepuff's cup, and walk out with no one the wiser._

_Wait, what?_

_Oh, did Dumbledore forget to tell you something important? Go ahead and get the whole plan from him, then I can fill in any missing details. I can wait._

_You're asking me to destroy a priceless relic of my House's founder_, Tonks wrote.

_I guess that means there'll be poetic justice,_ the Saintlike One replied._ It isn't a pure relic anymore—Voldemort corrupted beyond any hope so it has to go._

_Why would he even do that?_ Tonks asked._ I thought You-Know-Who hated Gryffindor, not Hufflepuff._

_Voldemort thought founder relics were cool and the cup just happened to be the first one he found. Anyway, are you up for destroying it?_

_You are asking me to risk my life and freedom while risking hardly anything yourself, _Tonks wrote.

She waited several long moments before the Saintlike One wrote his answer.

_Alright. I'll put myself at risk to assuage your fears. I won't tell you how, yet, but by the time you enter the bank, you will know. If you still aren't convinced by then, you can abandon the plan with no one the wiser. Is that okay?_

Tonks smiled as she wrote her reply._ I guess we'll have to wait and see. Give me some time to get ready at the very least._


	13. Chapter 13

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, who isn't me. The only profit I get from this is personal satisfaction.

* * *

Black on Black

* * *

_Charlemagne,_ Mundungus thought to himself, _you owe me big time._

His old friend had requested that he go to Azkaban, visit all of his friends, and give a few newspaper clippings to certain convicts: the Lestranges, Sirius Black, Antonin Dolohov, Augustus Rookwood, and several other Death Eaters. Since there was the highest Dementor concentration near the Death Eater cells, Mundungus was feeling quite miserable, even with his Auror escorts casting Patronuses of their own.

Handing out newspapers, though, wasn't the real reason Charlemagne asked Mundungus to come to Azkaban___—_it was to steal from the cabinet that carried the wands of all the various inmates. It used to be that a wizard's wand could get snapped the moment they were convicted. Some uppity wizards called for a policy change shortly before the whole thing with You-Know-Who got big, and so many a Death Eater wand was still confiscated and unused for nearly a decade.

Charlemagne had gotten the bright idea to steal the wands and sell them to people who wanted them. Charlemagne called dibs on Bellatrix Lestrange's wand for a witch whose cousin got killed by the Death Eater Queen and wanted to see if mutilating the twisted wand would help her feel better. Anything else, it was decided, was for Mundungus to do with as he wished.

When Mundungus got close to the office Charlemagne told him had the wands, he put up his Patronus.

"Get rid of that," one of the escorts said.

"Yours weren't helping much," Mundungus replied.

"It's visitor policy. Put out your Patronus or we'll have to remove you from the premises immediately."

A disillusioned Charlemagne cast a Confundus Charm on the unsuspecting escorts. "You won't remember me or the person you were escorting. You won't remember anything in particular about the events of today," he told the Aurors. To Mundungus, he said, "keep that Patronus up and close to me. Make another one for yourself if you can and make sure no one else comes by."

"What about the Aurors in the office?" Mundungus asked.

"I think I can take care of them." And he was gone.

It was almost a shame that Charlemagne didn't have a good Patronus himself___—_almost, because if he had, Mundungus probably wouldn't hear about this crazy scheme at all, let alone profit from it.

* * *

It was the second-to-last day of the term. Dumbledore had given Tonks a pile of memories to base her Bellatrix performance after, and after several weeks of practice, she felt like she could convince Bellatrix herself that she was the real one. Well, maybe she wasn't quite that good, but the chance that the goblins would spot the imposter was looking pretty slim.

Tonks knew she had to be insane to go along with this scam, but she felt like she had to help the Weasleys with their Saintlike problem somehow. And if it so happened that the Saintlike One _wasn't_ lying about You-Know-Who corrupting Hufflepuff's cup to make himself immortal...well at least she would have done her part in stopping that. At the very least, she would be able to snap her crazy aunt's wand by the end of it. How the Saintlike One had managed to get it she'd never know, but Dumbledore was able to give it to her a couple days ago and she'd gotten a feel for it.

After using the Headmaster's fireplace to get to Diagon Alley, she walked confidently towards Gringotts, while taking a quick glance at Dumbledore's copy of the Saintlike Parchment every few steps. The Saintlike One hadn't sent her any messages yet to convince her that he was risking himself. She decided that if he didn't keep his word by the time she stepped inside the doors, she would immediately morph back into herself and go to her own vault.

Just as she was a couple steps away from the door, a scrap of parchment flew over her shoulder and into her hands. She stopped and stepped aside to read it.

_I'm here, _it said in the Saintlike One's handwriting.

"And how do I know it's really you?" she muttered under her breath as this new slip of parchment dissolved in her fingers. She felt something nudge at the sword she had wrapped around her waist, underneath her cloak and when she turned to look, another parchment fell into her hands.

_Voldemort would probably have thought that sword was cool enough to corrupt, if he had known about it._

Tonks watched as this parchment too dissolved in her hands. Apparently he wasn't going to be using his normal method of communication, so Tonks tucked the Saintlike Parchment away. At least she knew that the Saintlike One (or someone he trusted) was there, albeit disillusioned. If he accompanied her past the Thief's Downfall, then she would be able to see who he really was. Maybe he just didn't want Dumbledore or the twins to know that someone else had met him in the flesh.

"Stay with me," she whispered as she walked into Gringotts like she owned the place.

She strode up to the goblins, demanded to see her vault, and presented her wand for identification. They didn't even flinch after seeing a patron who was widely known throughout the wizarding world to be in Azkaban. Apparently the goblins really _didn't_ know or care about the witch's history, as long as they got their gold in the end.

Soon, Tonks was brought to one of the carts. She felt a hand on her shoulder as she entered the cart and the hand did not release even as they began shooting through the underground maze. The Saintlike One was with her. Excellent.

As they went through the waterfall that was the Thief's Downfall, Tonks voluntarily shifted back into herself—just to be safe—and waited for the Saintlike One would appear so she could tell the goblins that he was an approved companion.

But he didn't appear. It was then she realized his hand's touch on her shoulder was gone. The Saintlike One had trapped her here and she had to be extremely lucky if she was going to get out alive and free. She changed back into Bellatrix before the goblins could notice. Even if the Saintlike One _was_ going to alert Gringotts to the intruder, it would be best to preserve the illusion for the goblins in front of her for as long as possible.

Then the unthinkable happened: another dissolving parchment was placed into her hands.

_I'm still here, don't worry._

How had he done it? How could he possibly get through something that was guaranteed to break all concealing enchantments?

"Is there something wrong, Mrs. Lestrange?" one of the goblins asked.

"Can't this thing go any faster?" Tonks pouted in a near-perfect imitation of her aunt___—_she was extremely grateful that her Bellatrix persona no longer required much thought to enact, even when she was as flustered as she was. The cart began to increase in its already very fast speed until they suddenly stopped. Tonks resisted the urge to vomit as she followed the goblins to the Lestrange vault. As the Saintlike One mentioned, there was a dragon there and the goblins made a clanking noise to scare it off. Tonks pretended to be unfazed by it, like a feral dragon was the most normal thing in the world. Once they got to the vault itself, of the goblins placed his palm on the door and let Tonks in.

"I demand my privacy," Tonks said.

"Just tap the entrance when you're done," the goblin replied and he sealed the doorway shut.

"You still here?" she whispered.

Parchment appeared. _Yep_. Parchment dissolved.

"How did you do get past the waterfall?"

Several seconds later, more parchment.

_Borrowed something Dumbledore's been holding onto for a few years while he wasn't paying attention. Don't tell him: I don't want him to know that I know about it._

"So you stole it? Or right, 'borrowed' without asking. Never mind. Do you see the cup anywhere?"

The sword began to move of its own accord, rising out from under the cloak, and pointed to a small cup near the back of the vault. Tonks carefully climbed over the treasure to it. She tripped, of course, but the Gemino and Flagrante curses did not activate, probably since she was a blood Black. The moment she touched the cup, she felt darkness emanating from the it and promptly dropped it.

_Yeah, there's really dark magic in there,_ the newest bit of parchment said._ Use the sword on it._

Tonks took the sword and slashed at Hufflepuff's cup. The cup erupted and flew the Lestrange treasure all over the place. Tonks was surprised that the Saintlike One didn't activate the security spells either. Maybe whatever he stole from Dumbledore was protecting him too.

The Saintlike One, of course, gave her more dissolving parchment. _Congratulations. You just took a major step in stopping Voldemort from coming back. Now your time as an Auror will be filled with sunshine and rainbows._

"How do you know what I want to do after I graduate?" Tonks asked with a raised eyebrow.

_I know everything about everything. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to go home._

"Not so fast," Tonks said. "You're going to show me what you are. You aren't getting out of this vault without my permission, so you might as well give up now, Saintlike One."

_You've been talking to the Weasley twins, haven't you?_

Tonks cast an immobilizing charm in the direction of where the latest parchment came from. It may not have been cast with her own wand, but she heard a satisfying thump anyways. She felt around for the body and pulled at soft fabric.

A Weasley twin looked up at her.

"You said you'd stop possessing him, you lying snake!"

The Saintlike One cancelled Tonks' spell and pointed his wand at her. "Imperio."

Tonks felt herself walk towards the vault's entrance as she heard the Saintlike One get up from behind her and, presumably, replace the invisibility cloak.

"Tonks, I'm really, really sorry about this," he said in George's voice. _George's voice._ It made her sick to even think about it.

Tonks exited the vault and was forced into following the orders to act normal and leave. She didn't fight back___—_she couldn't let the goblins know that she wasn't Bellatrix___—_but she would not let the Saintlike One get the best of her. She'd murder him the next time she saw him.

As she exited Gringotts, Tonks felt something poke her from behind. Gryffindor's sword fell by her feet and one final scrap of disappearing parchment hovered in front of her face.

_You shouldn't leave the sword of Gryffindor where the goblins can get it. And by the way, I'm not possessing anyone today. No one knows that Polyjuice taken after the Thief's Downfall works just fine as long as you weren't using it before you went through it._

She heard a pop and the Imperius Curse subsided. Tonks changed her appearance and quickly went for the nearest fireplace connected to the Floo Network. A moment later, she was back in the Headmaster's office.

"How did it go?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye.

Tonks told (or rather screamed at) Dumbledore about what had happened. He wasn't nearly as bothered by it as he should have been.

"Don't you understand?" Tonks cried. "He used an Unforgivable on me!"

"You were prying into his identity," Dumbledore said with a shrug. "He asked rather nicely that you not do that."

"That is absolutely no reason to forgive him for controlling me! It's in the name: _unforgivable_!"

"Did he leave you to rot? Did he expose your identity? Did he force you to satisfy his every primal craving and whim? No, he did not. He only made sure you completed a plan you had already agreed to follow and would have followed anyway, had you not started meddling in his business. I am rather confident that he had your best interests at heart and that whatever his reasons for preserving his masquerade are valid."

"The Weasleys are right," Tonks spat. "You _have_ been bewitched and if I don't want to end up like you, I'd better stay as far away from this as possible. If I'm not already corrupted and about to lose my mind too."

"As far as I know, he won't be needing your services any longer. Will you please return the Saintlike Parchment to me?"

"It belongs to Fred and George Weasley. And I have a feeling that they won't be giving it back to you." Tonks left the office in a huff and cast a few blasting curses on the idiot Headmaster's stuff on her way out.

"I always did think I had too many things," was the last thing she heard Dumbledore say before she ran down the stairs to the gargoyle and to the meeting-place she had arranged with the twins and Charlie.

The Weasleys were a lot more sensible than Dumbledore when Tonks told them about her ordeal. _They_ understood how wrong it was to cast the Imperius Curse on Tonks. _They_ understood that she had risked a lot for them. They were also very grateful to get Dumbledore's Saintlike Parchment back.

Charlie tried to burn both Saintlike Parchment copies, but only the edges barely singed a little before fire simply stopped being effective. Other attempts between the first-years and sixth-years to destroy the parchments weren't successful either. The only reason they didn't try to dispose of them by hiding them or flushing them down a toilet was the possibility that they might fall into the wrong hands. Tonks suspected the Saintlike One planned it that way.

Manipulative git.

* * *

_That was way too close,_ George thought as he Apparated inside the Shrieking Shack. He felt awful for using the Imperius Curse on Tonks, but after becoming desensitized to it after those months of using it on himself, it slipped out and he couldn't end it until he left her presence. The dose of Polyjuice he had taken simply wouldn't have lasted long enough before Tonks did something drastic. If she had seen his true form, he would have lost all the protection and freedom of his James Oliver identity at best and been forced to confess that he was a time traveler and thus kicked out of the universe at worst. He couldn't think of any other actions besides the Imperius that would have saved him, but that fact didn't make him feel any better. So he decided to be productive to get his mind off things___—_he still needed to find the diadem so he headed for Hogwarts and the Room of Requirement.

George decided to try something new this time. He closed his eyes and brought up the memory of what the cup _felt_ like and tried to find something that felt the same. He didn't sense anything, but he picked a direction and began walking (and tripping over things) and tried to detect Voldemort's evil soul. When George felt like he wanted to just give up, he opened his eyes and, right in front of him, was an old tiara. He touched it and knew for a certainty that it was a Horcrux. He grabbed a nearby broomstick, flew back to the entrance, and headed towards Dumbledore's office.

George placed the diadem in front of the gargoyle. As an afterthought, he put Harry's cloak with it. It had been invaluable in getting past the Thief's Downfall___—_thank Merlin for George hearing the story of the Gringotts break-in enough times to realize the power of the Cloak of Invisibility—but Dumbledore would now know that George had nicked it and would want it back in his safe-keeping.

He left Hogwarts before writing on the Saintlike Parchment, _Diadem recovered and with cloak at gargoyle. Locket should be recovered soon._ And, just in case the twins had already taken Dumbledore's copy of the Saintlike Parchment away from him, George sent his raccoon Patronus up to the Headmaster's office.

The plan to retrieve the locket was very easy to put into motion. All he had to do was flick his wand and wait for the news.

* * *

Sirius looked at the crossword that was dropped off by a visitor to Azkaban a few days ago. He'd completed it already, but since the paper was the newest thing in the cell in he didn't know how many years, he tried to milk its entertainment value for all its worth.

He thought he was hallucinating when he saw the letters start to dance on the page. But no, they were definitely moving in a precise way. They rearranged themselves:

_ThE InnOCent pRiSOneR ShOuLd eSCape. THE RAT SuRviveD. ALLY wAiTS aT PADFOOT THE GRIMM'S PLACE wiTh VENGEANCe PLANs._

* * *

When school got out and the Weasleys were all back at the Burrow, Charlie, Fred, and George did their best to act as if nothing was wrong. That proved difficult when the Daily Prophet declared the news:

_SIRIUS BLACK ESCAPES FROM AZKABAN!_

The three brothers remembered that the Saintlike One claimed that Sirius Black was the only one who could order a certain House-elf around. Now he was free to do all the horrible things he wanted to and no one was going to stop him. The moment they could, the boys escaped from Mum—and the rest of the family who wouldn't understand—and hid up in the twins' room.

"The Saintlike One must have broken him out of Azkaban, and Dumbledore let it happen," Fred said. His face looked far harder than what any twelve-year-old boy had a right to have. George looked exactly the same.

Charlie took Fred under his right arm and George under his left—like Mum had done to them earlier when she'd first heard the news—but hopefully this time it would be more effective since they knew that he knew. "You took away his ability to contact Dumbledore," he told them. "Fred here can stop the possessions. The Saint won't be able to use either of you anymore."

"He won't need to," George choked out. "He has a Death Eater on his side now."

Charlie couldn't think of a good reply to that so he just held his brothers tighter.

_Merlin, help us._

* * *

George waited outside at 12 Grimmauld Place. He'd erected some wards—not of future-Bill-caliber, but good enough to keep the Ministry from poking their noses for a little while. Sirius had discovered the message, of course, but George wasn't sure about the state of mind Sirius was in at the moment, so he kept his guard up.

A familiar black dog appeared at the end of the road. George stood up and whistled to him. "Padfoot! Come here, boy!" The dog hesitated. "Come on! I need you to catch me this giant rat that has this gross wormy tail!"

Padfoot perked up at that and ran for George, who led him inside 12 Grimmauld Place. The moment the door closed, Sirius morphed back, pushed George up against the nearest wall, and put a hand threateningly around his neck.

"Who are you? What do you want? What do you know about Wormtail?"

"I'm a friend," George said without showing any fear. "I know Pettigrew didn't die and that he was Secret Keeper, not you. I want to get you healthy again and then we can take care of Wormtail. He's not going anywhere."

Sirius looked George for a moment before releasing him. "If Peter hears that I've escaped, you might never find him again."

"Don't be so sure about that," George replied with a smile. "But before we do anything else, I need you to give Kreacher some orders and then I'll get you somewhere no one will ever find you."

"We're not staying here?" Sirius asked.

"You hate this place. I've got other options, so I'll use them. But first we deal with Kreacher."

Sirius sighed, then took a deep breath and yelled at the top of his lungs, "Kreacher, you maggot! Come here right now!"

Kreacher slowly walked down the stairs and bowed mockingly to Sirius. "Yes, Master? You return after all these years just to order me around? How thoughtful—"

"Order him to give me the locket Regulus stole from Voldemort before he died," George said.

Kreacher's eyes widened. "You know about Master Regulus' locket?"

"Yes," George said. "We're going to destroy it."

"Don't tell him that," Sirius hissed to George but Kreacher had already Apparated away and back.

"Here it is," Kreacher said.

"Is that what you want?" Sirius asked George.

It looked like the broken thing Ron kept in a box in his closet, only whole. "Yep, that's it."

"Kreacher, I order you to hand it over." To Sirius' surprise (and maybe just a little for George) Kreacher did so without a fuss.

"Now that that's that," George said, "grab my arm. We've got places to be."

"The Shrieking Shack?" Sirius asked when they arrived in the rickety-looking old building.

"This is just temporary until I can make other arrangements. You know how to get back to Hogwarts from here, I take it?"

Sirius snorted.

"Right. Well, since you're here, could you take the locket up to Dumbledore's office? He doesn't have to see you—just make sure he gets it, okay?"

Sirius nodded, shifted back into a dog, grabbed the locket in between his teeth, and ran through the tunnel to Hogwarts. As an afterthought, George conjured a stick and sent it to where Sirius would need to press the knot to immobilize the Whomping Willow. Sirius barked—whether from gratitude or annoyance, George didn't know.

When George felt enough time had passed, he sent his Patronus to Dumbledore and had it go down his office's stairs before dissipating. Sirius came back down the tunnel a little while later. "Mission complete. Now what?"

"Now the hound gets a healthy snack," George said as he tossed an apple into Sirius' hands. "And once you're up for it, I'd like some help nicking Voldemort's diary."

"I never knew the evil git had one," Sirius said as he chewed on the first real food he'd had in years. "I wonder if we could tease him about the girls he liked as a teenager."

Yep. George was _definitely_ looking forward to spending some quality time with the Marauder.


	14. Chapter 14

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, who isn't me. The only profit I get from this is personal satisfaction.

* * *

Confession Day

* * *

September 1st. The end of summer. Confession Day.

Over the past two months, everyone had been unsettled. Most people were worried about the crazy murderer on the loose. The various members of the Weasley family had their own troubles on top of that.

Fred and George had trouble sleeping. The nightmares where the Saintlike One finally stole their minds away from them or forced them to join You-Know-Who or to hurt or kill each other just kept coming and coming, so Fred spent half the night comforting his twin and George him. They tried to pretend that everything was fine, but Mum could tell something was wrong. She somehow connected it with the fact that neither drank pumpkin juice anymore and so she constantly encouraged the twins to down a cup with every meal. They couldn't give her a good reason for always avoiding it that _wouldn't_ send her into hysterics, so they ended up tossing the lot of it while she wasn't looking.

Charlie probably had the worst of it, though. He felt responsible for his twin brothers, like he had to protect them at all times from the Saintlike One. On top of that, Tonks had been worried that she might fall victim to the Saintlike One's bewitchment at any moment, so she owled Charlie all the time to make sure she didn't go insane. Charlie was so stressed out that he was on his broom most of the day to keep from thinking about it too much.

And, just because the universe wanted to be thorough in hating them all, Percy's rat had had "run away from home," if Mum was to be believed. It was far more likely that Scabbers ran into a stray cat's mouth, but no one but Ron said so out loud.

Now that the day the Saintlike One had talked about with far too much fondness had arrived, Fred had to be extra-vigilant about not swallowing any pumpkin juice that might appear in his mouth—or that Mum might figure out that they were still avoiding the Saintlike One's evil beverage and force him into swallowing it.

"Fred," George whispered while packed their trunks. "What do you think is going to happen today? With _him_, I mean?"

"He always claimed to be patient," Fred said. "He will just have to be patient forever. If he can't, it'll prove to Dumbledore that he's a liar and maybe he'll snap out of it."

"But what if he comes after us _in person_, like he did with Tonks?"

"Then we'll do whatever it takes to get rid of him forever. Even if that means telling Mum."

* * *

George was ready. He was more than ready. He'd had a very productive summer and, as far as he could tell, only one more Horcrux needed to be destroyed. Sirius had managed to get the diary on his own and was constantly bragging to George that he didn't know how the mutt had pulled it off.

George still hadn't told Dumbledore about where Sirius was living yet (nor had he shown Sirius the glass jar that Wormtail was being kept in) but George was ready to tell his whole story, his whole plan. Fred and Young George, however, didn't seem like they were going to be cooperative.

He'd watched the Burrow, disillusioned, in the yard within the wards Bill had placed for practice and to give the Weasleys a little protection. An extendable ear to the twins' room yielded more information than watching the upstairs window: they in no uncertain terms refused to ever communicate with the Saintlike One again and they would freak out if George ever told them who he was in person. Being forthcoming with Dumbledore and not the twins was starting to look appealing, but George remained steadfast against that idea. He'd promised to tell the twins first. He wasn't going to go back on his word now.

George got out the Saintlike Parchment. Hopefully they'd read it someday. That is, if the Trickster got it right about how much time it took to make him permanent in the universe.

_Dear Young George Weasley (and Fred Weasley, but this is mostly directed to my possessee),_

_As I'm writing this, it's exactly one year after I started to possess you. That means that I can tell you anything and not fear the end of the universe, or so I've been led to believe. I am afraid of writing down the whole truth where someone else might read it, though, so I'm going to hide the rest of this message with the same passwords as the Map._

_I am George Weasley. I have told this to anyone who asks, but they did not believe me at the time. It's true: I have been George Weasley for 41 years and I am a time traveler. Surprise!_

_I still have no idea what sent me back in time but I do know why I consented. 2 May 1998, my best friend died protecting Harry Potter during the Battle of Hogwarts. Fred. I still have nightmares about it._

_The whole 'possessing my younger self' was not my idea (nor was the pumpkin juice), but it did provide an excuse to see Fred alive again. Anything was better than not having him in my life, I thought. I did not realize just how much my being here would hurt you both and I apologize. As I've been in this time, I've done my best to sabotage Voldemort's return so the blasted war doesn't happen all over again—hopefully it will be enough._

_Once you have read this, I would ask that you find your way to the Hog's Head. I will wait for you there every night so that I can once and for all prove to you that I'm not the liar you think I am and that I truly am you._

_All my love,  
_

_George Weasley, The Saintlike One_

* * *

Fred began unpacking. Unlike last year, the twins had decided that it was okay for George to actually be in the house he was supposed to be in. Since now (or at least soon) they probably didn't have to worry about the Saintlike One anymore, George didn't have to worry about attacks from both him and the Slytherins (most of them had learned last year that messing with the Weasleys was a stupid idea). Still, though, Fred thought it was safer to keep their Saintlike Parchments in his trunk instead of George's. George's trunk, after all, was magicked by the Saintly Git himself.

"So, are you really really _really_ Fred?" Lee asked.

"If I say yes will you believe me?" Fred replied with a sigh.

"You and your twin lie about it all the time!" Lee protested. "Honestly, that's like believing the Saintlike One after he claims he's trustworthy."

"Do not talk about that parasitic brother stealer again," Fred hissed. "We're rid of him and we want to keep it that way."

"Then what's this?" Lee asked as he took a Saintlike Parchment out of Fred's trunk.

"Don't touch that and don't read it! It's his Confession Day so he's probably going to use it to bewitch me and George!"

"You, my friend, are paranoid," Lee said as he read the latest letter. A moment later, he said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Fred watched Lee's face slacken. "Lee, that thing is bewitching you!"

"No, Fred. You and George _really _need to read this. It says—"

"Don't tell me what it says or I'll get bewitched too! First Dumbledore, now you. He's ensnaring your mind and binding his will to yours."

"He's not, Fred. I thought you had more trust in your friends," Lee said.

"Even perfect friends can't be trusted when they've been bewitched!" Fred roared.

"Fine, Fred," Lee whispered. "If you're right and I am bewitched, I'm going to follow the instructions on this letter and you can't stop me because you don't know what they are."

"Lee, I beg you. Don't listen to him."

"He cares about you, Fred. If you want to know why, the letter is right here in your trunk. Mischief Managed."

* * *

Lee didn't want to believe it, but he knew it was true: the Saintlike One was nothing more than an old George. Everything fit and it just felt right. Fred could call bewitchment all he liked and it wouldn't change that.

Once Fred fell asleep, Lee snuck out of bed and used the passage under the one-eyed witch to Honeydukes. _No wonder he knew about the Map—he's had it since his first year._

Lee quietly snuck out of Honeydukes and over to the Hog's Head. It felt cold—a lot colder than usual. Then he noticed the tall cloaked figures and he ran as fast as he could to the pub. He slammed the door behind him.

"You're out a little late," the elderly barman said with a frown.

"I'm looking for someone," Lee replied. "He said he'd start coming here every night."

"That's not exactly descriptive, but if I notice any new regulars, I'll point them out to you during an actual school trip."

"I'll make sure he gets back to Hogwarts," the one-eared barman said as he came out of the storage room. "I'm surprised he decided to come out despite the Dementors."

"Thank you, James, but can you cast a Patronus?"

"Well enough," the one-eared man replied as he pulled Lee outside. "If you have chocolate back at your dorm, Mr. Jordan, I'd suggest you eat it. I usually put most of my wages into making things instead of buying plain old sweets and now I'm paying for it every time I want to go outside at night—let's hope someone takes care of the Sirius Black mess soon, eh? But what are _you_ doing out here tonight? What's so important that you'd sneak out of the school at a time like this?"

"I needed to prove something to my friend," Lee said. "He got a letter and refused to even look at it. They asked for him to visit the Hog's Head and I went in his place to show him there was nothing to worry about."

The barman laughed. "You're a good friend, Lee."

The way he said that…it made Lee wonder. "George?" Lee asked tentatively.

"Got it in one." It _was_ George. That face was old and worn but it was definitely his friend's face.

"What _happened_ to you?" Lee asked.

"Snape accidentally sliced my ear off, I spent 20 years without Fred, and I started dying my hair black so I wouldn't look so much like a Weasley. Nothing much."

"And you went back in time to stop the war from happening," Lee added.

"Well, Harry was very upset when Sirius Black died, so I couldn't just save Fred and nobody else," George said with a smile.

"Isn't Sirius Black a mass murderer?"

"I think you're confusing him with Percy's rat," George replied. "He blew up a dozen Muggles to cover up the fact that he betrayed the Potters and placed the blame on Sirius."

"_Scabbers_ is guilty?" Lee asked incredulously.

"Trust me," George said as he patted Lee on the back, "this will all make sense when you have all the pieces."

"I guess," Lee muttered. "But how do we convince the twins that you're really George? They're both even more paranoid than before, if that's even possible."

"I've still got a few tricks up my sleeves, especially now that I've got you as an insider. I'll contact you by Patronus when I have a definite plan."

"Can I see the Patronus?" Lee asked. "Just so I know it's really you and not some front man."

"Sure. Expecto Patronum!"

* * *

Mundungus was down an alley on his way to visit his old friend when he saw the raccoon Patronus.

_A year of looking and I finally find him?_ He quietly ran to see who the caster was. When he saw, he stopped cold.

Charlemagne.

_That can't be right! Charlemagne never was able to cast it and he would have told me he could. Did he figure it out recently? No, Dumbledore knew the form a year ago. Could two people with the same Patronus be running around? Possible, but Charlemagne wouldn't have had any reason to have that animal._

Unless that's not Charlemagne.

_He had changed, yes, but so much? He knew things, but was that gleanings from my own head? He's never reminded me of a detail I didn't remember, has he? We _never_ remembered the exact same things before his reappearance—that was our strength in working together. Has this imposter been playing me, using me to get what he wanted?_

He couldn't go to Albus. The Headmaster had sent him a letter back in January that said it was no longer necessary to find the raccoon Patronus. Albus was strong, but not infallible. In fact, ever since he sent that letter, the Headmaster seemed to get steadily weaker. Charlemagne—or whoever he really was—could have been the cause.

If not Albus, Aberforth, Mundungus decided. He didn't care if he had a permanent ban; Mundungus went to the Hog's Head as quickly as possible so he could tell Aberforth everything before the imposter returned.

* * *

George was happy. If Young George and Fred couldn't be the first to know, at least it could be Lee. Lee more or less was responsible for getting George through the grief right after Fred died and he would never abandon a Weasley twin in need. And so George skipped through Hogsmeade despite the Dementors. Anyone watching through the window would probably assume he was crazy, but George simply didn't care.

The lights seemed dimmer than normal when George entered the pub. "Lumos," he said, just in time for him to be stunned from behind.

* * *

George woke up in darkness, and even if he had his wand, it wouldn't have helped—he was blindfolded and tied to a wooden chair that was depositing splinters in his backside.

"I don't think you really are who you pretend to be," a voice said. It was a disguised voice, but George had a pretty good idea of who it was.

"Dung? What's going on?"

"Are you really Charlemagne?"

"…maybe?" George replied.

"Well, you certainly aren't James Oliver since no such person exists. I _made_ your papers. You made business deals on my behalf at the Hog's Head. Do you deny it?"

George sighed. "No."

"I am very disappointed in you," another voice said.

"Aberforth," George choked out. "I'm sorry."

"I wouldn't trust anything that comes out of this parasite's mouth," Dung said. "If he was Charlemagne, he could lie like any other—and since he's not, he's even better."

"Then are you sure you want to use that to interrogate him?" Aberforth asked.

"It can't hurt," Dung replied. "And if it doesn't work, it's his own fault."

George heard the sound of a vial unscrewing and swore mentally. Apparently they had found his potion stash and they were about to use the Veritaserum he'd finally managed to get right against him.

George gathered his magical power and yelled "Confundo!"

* * *

"What was that?" Mundungus asked.

"I think the imposter has confunded himself," Aberforth replied.

"Well, that makes no sense. That'll just make the Veritaserum easier to use."

"Perhaps he was aiming for one of us, then," Aberforth said as he placed three drops into the man he used to call James' mouth.

"What is your real name?" Mundungus asked.

"George Weasley."

"Isn't that one of the first-year who brought gnomes to the Quidditch match?" Mundungus asked. "That can't be right."

"Perhaps _this_ is why he confunded himself. Why are you here?"

"I'm saving Fred from the wall exploding."

"This isn't going anywhere," Mundungus complained. "What's a good reason to arrest him? I don't want to be his prison guard for the rest of my life."

"I helped break Sirius Black out," the imposter said.

"Well _that's_ certainly possible," Mundungus said. "He had me give the prisoners—including Black—some newspaper clippings and he was out within a week. That _can't _be a coincidence."

"And thus we can get this man to Azkaban where he belongs."


	15. Chapter 15

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, who isn't me. The only profit I get from this is personal satisfaction.

* * *

Three's a Crowd

* * *

Sirius was worried. The one-eared fellow—who _still_ hadn't bothered to introduce himself properly—usually came to give him some food every night like clockwork. It had been two days since the last visit. Sirius became a dog again so he could wander the streets without notice. He found a Daily Prophet and read the leading article.

_BARMAN CONFESSES TO HELPING BLACK ESCAPE_

_James Oliver a few days ago was known as a light-hearted, one-eared assistant barman at the Hog's Head. He has now confessed under Veritaserum to coercing an unknowing Mundungus Fletcher into providing Sirius Black with a charmed parchment that enabled the first ever escape from Azkaban._

_"He led me to believe he was secretly an old friend," Fletcher said. "I thought he wanted to scare some Death Eaters or something, not get one of them out. When I found out he wasn't who I thought he was, I realized he'd manipulated me and I cornered him and got him to confess."_

_Unfortunately, James Oliver (or whatever his true name is) experienced mental trauma before he was able to divulge full details of how he did it or the whereabouts of Black now. He will be in the spell damage ward of St. Mungo's until a trial can be performed._

So Sirius was safe, but only for so long. He'd have to try and get James out and hope whatever had happened to him was something Sirius could reverse on his own but would take long enough that James would be out before they started questioning him again.

_I really should call him Oliver._ Sirius thought to himself._ He's not the James I know and love, so Oliver shouldn't use that name unless it's really his._

* * *

Tonks had put it together: James Oliver was either the Saintlike One or very closely associated with him. She visited St. Mungo's with the intention to confront the evil Saint once and for all.

Tonks disguised herself as Mum—while Andromeda Tonks wasn't exactly a full-time healer, she _did_ volunteer frequently—and went to the ward she knew he'd be held. She walked confidently past the guards and found one of the healers examining a sleeping James Oliver—Dorsi, if she remembered his name correctly.

"Andromeda?" Healer Dorsi asked. "What brings you here?"

"My daughter," Tonks said in her best Mum impersonation. "She visited the Hog's Head frequently and she wanted to know if what the Prophet said was true. She doesn't think of Mr. Oliver as being capable of breaking someone out of Azkaban."

"Honestly, I don't think I'll be able to give you or her any satisfactory answers," the healer said with a sigh. "James Oliver has gone quite insane and I have no idea if he will ever recover. I will say that when he showed up here about a year ago looking for a job, he didn't strike me as the criminal sort either. If anything, he seemed...naïve? Not exactly that—he's definitely seen war—but perhaps he was a bit too eager to prove that he knew what he was doing when he didn't. And there's his narcolepsy."

"Narcolepsy?" Tonks asked.

"He fainted for a few minutes during his job inquiry and when he woke up, he acted like it was nothing new for him."

_Maybe it was, if the fainting coincided when the Saintlike One possessed George_, Tonks thought to herself. "Has he had any attacks since he was admitted?"

"He's in one right now, I think," Healer Dorsi replied. "Either that or his natural sleep patterns are having him sleep in the middle of the day. Which, for all I know, might be the case."

"Can you revive him?" Tonks asked. "Just so that I can give Nymphadora a first-hand account?"

"Just for a minute," Dorsi said as he pointed his wand towards James. "Rennervate."

James' eyes flashed open and he looked over at Tonks. "Teddy says hi. Or he would if he was born yet. That's hard...not being born. You haven't met Moony yet, have you? He was my favorite professor, you know. You love him, despite his badly behaved rabbit."

"What exactly caused this?" Tonks asked.

"My best guess is that the Confundus and Veritaserum—both of which are of questionable origin—mixed wrong so that he now tells the truth about things that make no sense. Individually both should have worn off by now, but together...for all we know, he might be like this for the rest of his life. As I understand it, he confessed to helping Sirius Black escape Azkaban while like this, so I'm going to refute Fletcher's claim in court. Even if he _was_ saying something true, James Oliver as he is now isn't guilty, merely mad."

"You know, you should go pink," James said to Tonks. "Black doesn't suit you at all. It's so sad. Like Harry. His life was so sad. The Dark Lord marked him as his equal, but he had power Voldy doesn't know about. One had to die at the hand of the other since neither could live while the other survived. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies... Hey, I can't believe I remembered all of that. Tell Dumbledore...wait, Snape killed him. Is Snape dead yet? I always wanted to see his doe. That and to ride Norberta sometime, but she won't be born for a couple years, I think."

"Does he respond to questions at all?" Tonks asked.

"Sort of. Like I said, his logic is skewed."

To James, Tonks asked, "were your actions in Azkaban what one might call Saintlike?"

"I'm Holy, Fred," he said as he pointed to his ear. "Geddit? Holey?" He started laughing like the maniac he was.

"That was an unfortunate choice of words," Healer Dorsi muttered. "Now he'll always be referring to himself as 'holey.'"

"What are Fred and I? Next-door neighbors?" James—who Tonks was now almost certain was the Saintlike One—asked. "I've always thought Fred and I should've got E in everything, because we exceeded expectations just by turning up for the exams."

_Merlin's beard, he really thinks that he's George Weasley, doesn't he?_

"Maybe he should try sleeping some more," Tonks suggested.

"We can try, but I cannot say whether it will do him any good," Dorsi said as he administered a sleeping potion.

"Let me know if anything changes," Tonks said as she left the ward and went to visit some other patients, like Mum would have done on an actual visit.

If the Saintlike One ever recovered, then Tonks would either get her revenge or just let him be tossed into Azkaban. But now, with his brain all garbled with George's, he wasn't worth vengeance. He was just pathetic.

At least now she could tell the twins all about this little visit and that they didn't have to live in fear anymore. The Saintlike One could never hurt anyone again.

* * *

Sirius snuck into the Hog's Head—fortunately there was no one there but Aberforth and he wasn't watching for stray dogs at the moment. He found the scent for Oliver all over, but there were a few spots that seemed abnormal in strength or placement. Nothing special was in the room that belonged to Oliver except for trace smells of various potions that must have been moved earlier. The first tangible thing he found was a piece of parchment left in between a tiny space between the counter and a table in the pub. It would be hard to grab it without fingers and thumbs, so Sirius kept looking for anything useful. A wand Sirius recognized was stuck in an empty bottle behind the counter. Since a wand meant everything to a wizard, Sirius grabbed the bottle with his teeth and ran before the barman could shoo him out.

The black dog returned to the Shrieking Shack through a tunnel he dug and broke the bottle open. Sirius changed back into a human and tested Oliver's wand. The wand didn't really want to cooperate, but as long as Sirius got it back to Oliver, it wouldn't really matter. He Apparated to an abandoned alley near St. Mungo's and slowly shifted back into a dog. He started with the tail, and stuck the wand to the underside of it before his hands became paws. It felt completely unnatural, but at least he would be able to conceal the wand until Oliver could retrieve it—if he was sane enough to do so, anyway.

Sirius snuck in with a large family with kids moving every which way. He figured out where Oliver was by the security guards posted outside the door—and the scent, of course. Sirius ran into the room and kept a random path, as if he were chasing a small critter no one else could see.

"Oh what a cute puppy!" Sirius froze. Oliver was approaching him like he was half a madman and half a kid in a candy store. If there was a perceivable difference between those two things, that is. "Can I keep him? I want to call you Snuffles and keep you forever!"

Sirius growled. He was _not _going to be called Snuffles by a man who'd obviously lost his marbles.

"It's okay, boy. Or is it girl? I should check." Sirius felt the Oliver remove the wand from under his tail. "Oh, you're a girl. I think. Maybe I'll call you Elvendork? It's unisex." Oliver silently confunded his guards and hid his wand up his sleeve—apparently he _was_ at least somewhat sane. "Come on, Elvendork! Let's go for a walk!"

Sirius pretended he saw the small critter again and "chased" it out, with Oliver close behind yelling after him. Soon they got all the way downstairs and Oliver grabbed him and they Apparated out.

"Thanks, Padfoot," Oliver said, not a hint of insanity left in his face—he was a better actor than Sirius gave him credit for. "I owe you one."

"You owe me two days' worth of meals," Sirius retorted once he shifted back into human form. "And Elvendork? Honestly!"

"It was the first name that popped into my head," Oliver replied.

"After Snuffles," Sirius said flatly.

"I my defense, that name was totally you. And I'm almost positive you made up the name Elvendork in the first place, so it's your own fault."

"Maybe I should take you back," Sirius threatened. "You're clearly insane."

"Okay, I surrender!" Oliver said before Sirius could clobber him—in the friendliest way possible, of course. "But now that we're both on the run, we need help. And unless you have friends willing to take you in while they still believe you killed Pettigrew and those Muggles, I suggest Dumbledore."

"I thought we were avoiding him," Sirius said.

"I was, but it's too late now," Oliver said.

* * *

Dumbledore was in his office when the raccoon Patronus came to him, then went downstairs. The last time the raccoon did this, the diary was there waiting for him. There weren't any other Horcruxes besides Harry, so the Headmaster assumed something else would be waiting for him. This time it was a large black dog. Dumbledore stared at the dog a moment before inviting it into his office.

"Thank you, professor," a familiar voice said when they got to the top of the stairs. Dumbledore turned to see Mr. Oliver remove his disillusionment. "Sirius," Mr. Oliver told the dog, "it's okay."

The dog morphed back into the human form the Headmaster recognized to be Sirius Black. _So that's how he did it all_, Dumbledore mused to himself.

"We come seeking asylum on behalf of the Saintlike One," Mr. Oliver said.

"Do you know who he is?" Dumbledore asked.

"The Saintlike One?" Mr. Oliver asked. "Yes."

"Are you, in fact, him?"

Mr. Oliver smiled, but did not answer.

"Oliver," Mr. Black asked, "what is he talking about?"

"I'll explain later. Headmaster, will you give us asylum until we can get the legal issues straightened out?"

"I am willing, but I do not know where to place you."

"That's fine," Mr. Oliver said. "Sirius knows everything about this place and the Room of Requirement should be quite suitable for our purposes."

"Except, of course, nourishment," Dumbledore noted.

"Tell Aberforth I'm innocent and I'm sure the castle will make a passage between the room and the Hog's Head," Mr. Oliver replied. "Or you can just have one of the House-elves help out if your brother still has a grudge against me."

"Did you orchestrate Mr. Black's escape?" Dumbledore asked.

"I enabled an innocent man's escape from the least humane place on the planet," Mr. Oliver corrected. "Pettigrew was the Secret Keeper, not Sirius, and it was he who blew up that alley and ran away in rat form. I left Wormtail in a jar somewhere Sirius doesn't know about, since this ol' mutt needs a little more persuading before he understands that the rat will have to be properly revealed and made to confess to his crimes. I don't have a good way to do that, but you're brilliant—you can figure it out."

"I think it would have been wiser to bring new evidence to light before removing Mr. Black from Azkaban," Dumbledore said.

"This way was faster," Mr. Oliver said. "And besides, I didn't want to risk the possibility that the Ministry would try to cover up their mistakes instead of living up to them. This whole 'escape' mess has ensured that _everyone_ knows that Sirius was locked up in the first place for supposedly killing Pettigrew—it would be much harder to deny the truth if Peter were witnessed to be alive by lots of people who know the 'official' facts."

"Point conceded, Mr. Oliver," Dumbledore replied. "I can see that if you are not the Saintlike One, you certainly have at least been influenced by him. Speaking of, there is something that I have been meaning to tell him that I have currently been unable to do since the Weasley twins took my Saintlike Parchment: the locket has been resistant to destruction."

Mr. Oliver raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"It projects an invisible shield that even Gryffindor's sword cannot penetrate," Dumbledore explained.

"Huh. I guess opening it really _is_ necessary."

"Pardon me?" the Headmaster asked.

"The only way to destroy it is from the inside," Mr. Oliver said. "You're going to need a Parselmouth to open it for you."

"I would rather not expose Mr. Potter to such matters at his age."

Mr. Oliver scoffed. "Harry's going to be swamped with things he's 'too young for' the moment he finds out he's a famous wizard-killer—if you don't count the Dursleys, of course."

"The Dursleys?" Mr. Black asked. "As in Lily's sister?"

"Young Harry hates his life with his aunt's family, but Dumbledore has his reasons for leaving him there," Mr. Oliver said. "I can't tell you if it'll really worth it or not, but at least Harry shouldn't have anything truly scarring happen to him from them. But back to the locket: as it so happens, I think I know exactly enough Parseltongue to open something protected by Slytherin. The Saintlike One's brother-in-law had the gift and a couple of family members used it on occasion successfully."

"Well, then," Dumbledore said as he retrieved the locket and the sword. "By all means, open this."

Mr. Oliver placed the locket on Dumbledore's desk and gave the sword to Mr. Black. _I suppose someone else should have the opportunity to destroy a Horcrux_, the Headmaster mused to himself. _Mr. Black deserves the chance to deal a blow to Voldemort if anyone does._

* * *

"Whatever happens," Oliver said, "don't let anything stop you from using that sword on the locket. Do it as quickly as you can."

Sirius nodded and held the sword at the ready. Oliver made a hissing noise.

The locket erupted open.

_"Sirius Black—you who have no right to be alive. You will be mine."_

"Stab!" Oliver said.

Before Sirius could, the form of his brother Regulus emerged from the locket. _"You let me join the Dark Lord and you did nothing to stop me. You always knew I would get myself killed because of it. And even when I __did__ die, you didn't care because you thought I was still on __his__ side."_

James—the real James—emerged too. _"We were best mates. Why did you kill me and betray my family? You were like a brother to me and you betrayed us all."_

"That's Voldemort!" Oliver cried. "Voldemort is the one who wants to make you feel like a failure—not your friends!"

Peter came out of the locket next. _"You never realized—when we sealed the Map, I made the test for rebelling and keeping secrets at any cost. I kept secrets from you, rebelled against you and the Marauders, to become a Death Eater. And you were so stupidly optimistic that you ensured that You-Know-Who found out where they were hiding." _He chuckled madly.

"He's right," Sirius whispered as he started to lower the heavy object in his hands.

"Don't you dare give up, Sirius," Oliver said. "You're fifty times the man Wormtail ever was!"

Sirius' screeching mother arrived. _"You don't deserve to call yourself a Black! We should have drowned you when you were born!"_

_"Now it's _us_ that are all dead," _Regulus said._ "The only scrap of family you have left is a House-elf that you abused for no reason at all."_

_"That's not _quite_ true,"_ James said. _"The Dursleys are keeping Harry barely alive right now because you abandoned him."_

"Sirius!" Oliver screamed as the shadows continued to taunt him. "Harry has been waiting for someone to show that they love him and _you_ are the person to do that! Give Harry a life where he doesn't have to live in fear of losing every good thing in this world and kill that piece of Voldemort in front of you!"

Sirius roared and shoved the sword into the void of the locket.

"That...was not very fun," Sirius muttered.

"Tell that to my brother," Oliver said as he pulled Sirius to his feet and patted him on the back.

"Your brother had to destroy another Horcrux?" Sirius asked.

"Something like that," Oliver said. "You know, I'm surprised it knew anything about you—it's not like you held onto it for very long. Though it might have been drawing on its experiences with Kreacher a bit, and it was probably listening to us talk..."

"Would you be needing anything else from me?" Dumbledore asked.

"You took care of the diary, right?" Oliver asked.

"Of course," Dumbledore replied.

"Then you'll be the first to know when the Saintlike One needs you again," Oliver said. "Come on, Sirius. Let's get settled in our new home."

* * *

Lee had the Marauder's Map in front of him. He was working on trying to figure out which twin was which and having the labels from the map helped. It'd probably still be a couple of years before Lee got it, but at least he had a consistent benchmark. He looked between the two twins and down at their dots every five seconds, just in case they mixed themselves up.

Then it caught his eye: up on the seventh floor, there was a Sirius Black and a George Weasley moving down a hallway.

"Fred, George, I think you should look at this," Lee said.

Fred grabbed the map. "Sirius Black? He's in the castle?" Lee was about to point out the second George Weasley when the Sirius Black dot also disappeared.

"What in Merlin's name just happened?" George asked.

"Let's go see if we can catch a mass murderer," Lee suggested as he got up from the bench. "Well, come on. We've done far more dangerous things than this and we have the Map. What could go wrong?"

"Um, did you forget that Black is working with the Saintlike One?" Fred asked.

"So you think we should just tell someone about him being in the castle because we saw his name on a map? They'd never believe us. And besides, he's getting away, so let's go find him!"

Lee started running before the twins could stop him. With some luck, they just might finally meet Old George as himself. Or the twins might just murder Old George on the spot, but Lee was feeling optimistic.

* * *

Tonks flew her broomstick back to Hogwarts. She went towards the Great Hall, but couldn't help but notice the twins and their friend hurry up a hallway. They could be doing something normal, of course, but she didn't want to take the chance that the Saintlike One could have fooled her. She grabbed Charlie Weasley and the two of them went after the trio of second-years.

* * *

George heard voices outside the Room of Requirement. It sounded like Fred, Young George, and Lee.

"Sirius, we've got company."

"Friend or foe?"

"Sort of both: they'll probably panic at the sight of either of us. Let me try something first." George cast his Patronus and had it pass through the hidden door out into the corridor.

"The Saintlike One!" Fred cried. "He's back!"

A voice that sounded like Lee tried to calm him down, but it didn't work.

"George? Are you Saintlike again?"

"No."

"Prove it!"

"It's our fault Ron hates spiders," Young George said.

George decided to use that moment to make his grand entrance. "It was your idea to turn Ron's teddy bear into an Acromantula, Fred," he said casually as he opened the door.

Fred and George stared at him while Lee just grinned.

"Come on, you three," George said. "If I wanted you dead, it would have happened a long time ago.

"You broke out Sirius Black!" Fred cried out.

"Sirius broke himself out," George corrected. "He's inside if you want to say hello."

Lee happily went in and the twins, since they couldn't very well leave their friend in danger alone, followed—though with a very firm grip on their respective wands.

Just as George began to close the door, he noticed Tonks and Charlie running down the hallway. "Hi, Tonks. Nice to see you made it back okay. And Charlie, nice to see the big-brother instinct is still strong, but I'm not going to hurt anyone today."

Inside, George heard Lee talking. "Hello, Mr. Black, I've heard you actually didn't betray the Potters. Is that true?"

"I betrayed them, alright," Sirius lamented.

George poked his head back in the Room of Requirement. "Stop that!" he snapped. "You telling them to switch Secret Keepers at the last second does not make you a traitor, it just makes you too clever for your own good!"

"What." Fred and Young George said it at the same time.

George smiled. They were a thoroughly confused captive audience and it was an opportunity he probably wouldn't have again. "Give me a second. Your seventh-year protectors are here." He looked back outside and Tonks and Charlie were both shooting curses at him. "Please stop," he said as he threw up a shield—actually the third or fourth one, since he'd been unconsciously casting them even when his focus was inside the Room of Requirement. "If you don't stop attacking me, I'm going to leave you out here and you'll never find out why I decided to possess Young George in the first place."

They weren't convinced.

"Let them go!" Charlie roared.

"I will," George replied. "Just not right now. But I think you'll be able to eavesdrop through this door and hear everything just fine. See you soon!"

With that, he shut the door and it locked itself.

"Okay, boys," George said as he turned back to the twins (who were still pointing their wands at him) and Sirius and Lee (who were making themselves comfortable on the chair the Room had provided) "it's time to tell you the full story of how I lost my ear. Back in '97—"

"You mean '87 or '77," Sirius corrected. "Or '67 if the nine is upside-down. It should only be 1990 now, right?"

"Who's telling this story?" George asked. "Me. Now, back in '97, Voldemort was rising again and had spies all over the Ministry. Voldemort wanted to kill Harry Potter the moment his Mum's blood magic wore off, so we decided to break her enchantment early. To do so, thirteen witches and wizards joined Harry Potter at 4 Privet Drive and seven Harry Potters left. I was one of them. Severus Snape, at this point, had officially sided with the Death Eaters while unofficially his loyalty rested with the Order of the Phoenix—Dumbledore's team, I mean. Snape tried to cast Sectumsempra at his Death Eater buddy, but it accidentally hit me. Mum and anyone else who looked at it couldn't heal it so it stays like this 21 years later."

"Wow," Lee whispered. "That's amazing."

"How can you think that story is at all believable?" Fred scoffed.

"I read the Saintlike Parchment unlike _some_ people," Lee retorted.

"Yeah, and you're bewitched," Young George said.

"A few months later," George continued, "Harry Potter returned to Hogwarts in search of the fifth Horcrux: the diadem of Ravenclaw. Witches and wizards from all over came to protect him and the school. Once again, I was one of them. Harry was able to defeat Voldemort once and for all, but not without a price."

"Fred," Lee said.

"What?" Fred asked.

"Yes," George said. "That's when Fred died."

"You are insane," Fred said. "I'm very _very_ not dead right now."

"Not now, but in eight years you were," George said.

"I'm with the red-headed kid on this one," Sirius said. "Insane."

George stuck his tongue out at Sirius and continued his story. "In 2018, I was visited by a globe of light. I don't know who it was—they only called themselves 'The Trickster'—but they offered me a chance to go back in time and make sure Fred didn't die this time. The catch was that I sporadically possess my eleven-year-old self."

"No!" Fred and Young George cried as they realized just what George was saying. Sirius and Lee quickly grabbed Fred and Young George, respectively, before they ripped George's face off.

"No!" Young George cried again. "I am _not_ you! I am _nothing_ like you!"

"You've definitely changed by my being here," George admitted, "but our first eleven years and five months are identical. I would have told you everything immediately, but the Trickster said that the universe would have noticed that its messing up on counting how many Weasley twins there are was not its fault but an interloper from an alternate universe. A year was the minimum amount of time before I was permanent enough to reveal where I came from and since I'm officially a part of this place, I'm staying until I'm dead."

"LIAR!" Young George screamed. He got out of Lee's grasp and cast a spell at George. George instinctively cast one of his own before he realized what he was doing.

The wands connected.

"Our wands are brothers—identical twins, in this case," George told his younger self as he watched the Priori Incantatem that was just like what Harry had gone through, albeit without the phoenix song and reviving ghosts. "They refuse to fight one another."

George allowed Young George's spell overcome his own. An Incendio burned George's chest with a heat much stronger than it had any right to have.

Sirius let go of Fred and went to heal George's searing flesh. "I have no idea if anything this guy says is true," Sirius said, "but he's helped me when no one else would and he _let_ you hurt him just now. At the very least, I don't think he's done anything to warrant this kind of anger at him. So grow up!"

Young George froze. Then he broke down and began to sob. Fred soon followed suit.

"Come over here," George said as he pushed Sirius away and reached out his arms to the young twins. "Pretend I'm Mum." Fred grabbed him on the left and Young George on his right and neither would let go. "You're doing it wrong," George told them gently. "Fred's always on Mum's right side."

"It's him," Fred said. "It's you."

"It's me."

* * *

George wiped the tears from his own eyes and motioned to Lee to open the door and let Charlie and Tonks in.

"You...you can't be him," Charlie said.

"Why not?" George asked as he ran his fingers through the twins' hair. It looked like they weren't going to stop crying anytime soon, which was probably a good thing. They needed to get rid of all the awful things they'd been feeling since last year.

"Maybe because you were absolutely crazy at St. Mungo's earlier today," Tonks suggested. "You were acting like you were actually George because you spent too much time in this head."

"It's much better for me to pretend to be insane than to go to Azkaban and really go insane—I've still got to make sure you lot turn out alright," George said. "It's just easier to convince people of your insanity by telling them the truth."

"_You_, tell the truth?" Tonks scoffed. "You've lied to them for over a year. Why should we believe you now?"

"Just look at my face, Tonks," George said. "You understand human anatomy better than anyone I know. What would I look like 29 years ago? Although maybe this will help: Scourgify," he said as he pointed his wand to his hair. The black vanished and bright ginger replaced it.

Tonks looked back and forth between the still sobbing twins and George. "You'd look like them," she gasped. "_Exactly_ like them. Even _I_ couldn't imitate someone to the last pore, let alone age them decades too."

George nodded and looked at everyone around him, his friends and family that now knew for a fact that George was exactly who said he was. Of them all, only Charlie still looked uneasy. "Charlie, if anyone in our family was going to fall to the dark side, who would it be?"

The question threw Charlie off-balance. After a moment, he said, "no one."

"Actually, Percy did," George said, "but that's because he's the World's Biggest Prat and believed the Ministry when they said Harry was crazy for claiming Voldemort came back. The rest of us, though, allied ourselves with Harry Potter so closely that he _is_ a part of our family. But even Perce came back to us before Harry defeated Voldemort. _That's_ how you know you can trust me, Charlie: we Weasleys have too strong of an instinct to fight for the side of everything that's right and good. And that's exactly what I'm doing, even if I _have_ made some the worst mistakes of my life in the process—I never wanted to hurt any of you. I hope you all can forgive me for what I did."

Charlie sighed. "You _would_ bend space and time just to save Fred, wouldn't you?"

George laughed. "He's _Fred_. Of course I did."

* * *

Author's Note:

I'm going to take a hiatus on this story for a little while. I've got ideas of where I'd like to go with it next, but I'd like to make sure that I have a satisfactory ending in sight before I share here. If I can't finish the story adequately between now and January, I'll be sure to post an epilogue that will hopefully give this thing a halfway-decent conclusion.

If there are any pressing questions you want answers to, let me know and I'll try to cover them when I start updating again.

Also, I'd like to express my gratitude to all of you who have had such positive feedback for this story. It's been awesome and I hope I can keep writing the stuff you want to read.

All my love,

pisoprano


	16. Chapter 16

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, who isn't me. The only profit I get from this is personal satisfaction.

* * *

Interest of Time

* * *

Dumbledore looked at his blackened hand. If Severus was correct, the Headmaster would be dead in less than two years, and from the looks of things it would be a very slow and painful death. If he was lucky, the Saintlike One might be able to help make his inevitable death quick, painless, and meaningful, but with the paranoia of the Weasley twins, Dumbledore worried that the Saintlike One might become permanently unavailable for discussion on the matter.

Several sets of footsteps echoed up the stairs. The staff rarely came in large groups unannounced, so it was likely that Mr. Oliver and Mr. Black had found someone for the Headmaster to talk to. The door opened and they were there, along with three Weasleys, Mr. Jordan, and Miss Tonks.

Mr. Oliver spoke. "I'm pleased to inform you that the Saintlike One has been exposed."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Could you please elaborate on that?"

"I promised this lot some memories, so you and the twins can get the full disclosure first," Mr. Oliver said as he approached the Pensieve and deposited a slurry of wisps into it. "While you three have fun, I'll get the requests from the rest of the group for their memorial tours. Now go on."

The Headmaster watched the two young gingers place their heads in the Pensieve and he followed suit. The memory they fell into was that of young George Weasley's Sorting.

_"Yet another easy Weasley_," the Sorting Hat said_. "Go join your twin in GRIFFINDOR!"_

"Why has this memory been tampered with?" Dumbledore asked.

Fred Weasley shrugged. "As far as I'm aware, that's completely accurate."

Dumbledore paled. If the Saintlike One had caused delusions in the twins, who was to say that the Headmaster had been under his influence without realizing it as well. Maybe he _should_ have taken their paranoia more seriously, before this radical change of heart.

"Just keep watching," George Weasley advised. "It should all make sense later."

And watch they did, but that sense seemed very long in coming. Nearly every prank the twins had gotten in trouble for (and quite a few that had never been discovered) was featured—though the Quidditch incident was conspicuously absent.

"Merlin, we are unoriginal," Fred Weasley lamented.

"Be fair," his twin replied. "He _did_ have a head start."

The memories advanced through time and it soon became apparent that they were watching events that could not have possibly happened yet. The twins dancing on a table saying, "We've got Potter!" definitely seemed out of place and the future kept on advancing.

"Why did he invent a false sequence of memories for you?" Dumbledore asked. "Is this supposed to be an apology for altering what your future could be?"

"You haven't figured it out yet?" George Weasley asked.

"What we're watching really happened, as the Saintlike One remembers it," the other twin explained. "He just jumped back in time a couple decades."

Dumbledore shook his head. "That is quite impossible. The timestream simply cannot sustain alterations of this magnitude. Time-Turners all but necessitate a stable time loop and even the few alternate methods I've heard of are completely reliant on the traveler's adherence to previous events—and none can jump anywhere near this far back in time. If wizards ever find a way to move even a few years, it will be several decades—if not centuries—from now."

"Well, we'll just have to keep watching to find out how to do it," George Weasley said.

They did.

* * *

George saw Dumbledore and the twins emerge from the Pensieve. Dumbledore looked completely dumbfounded as he went to examine a metal device on his shelf that probably had something or other to do with minds or time. Fred and George, on the other hand, were notably excited by all the pranks they had managed to pull off in the future.

"With the whole wide world of ear-related humor before you, you go with _holey_?" Fred quoted his future self.

"I stand by that decision," George said.

"What decision?" Tonks asked.

"How I came to be known as Saintlike," George said. "If you want it in your memorial tour, I'll put it in. Be warned that there's a lot of blood involved."

"Then why did you let the twins watch?" Charlie asked.

"It was when I lost my ear. It was kind of important," George said as he emptied the Pensieve.

"Before you send them in, there's something in your memories that I think you don't know about," Young George said.

"How?" George asked. "I'm pretty sure the whole point is that I remember the things I put in the Pensieve."

"Just go revisit your last night in the old timeline," Fred said.

George shrugged and placed the night of the Trickster back into the Pensieve. It played back as expected until, when his memory-self closed his eyes and the Trickster deadened his memories of his future family. That's when things changed.

A void with nothing but a blond young man standing before George. _How did this get in my memories? _ he wondered. _ Is it possible for the Pensieve to be contaminated?_

"Hello, George," the blond said with a smile. "This is a subconscious memory that I have implanted in your head in order to bypass the universe noticing me. I've already shielded your mind and wand from universal observation, as was done to me before I came here. You're not the first time traveling twin and I ask that you ensure that you are not the last.

"My name is Lysander Scamander. Just a little while ago, I was born to Luna and Rolf Scamander. What I'm doing in your version of the universe is my business, but it is my own twin driving my actions now. As for you, do what you need to do, but please also find an identical twin who you trust to not ruin everything and prepare them to jump from your reformed timeline to an earlier one. I don't know how many long-range time travelers have existed, but there were at least four before—or after, rather—me."

Out of thin air, Lysander pulled out a large book. "This is the Memory Book. It contains everything we know about our version of time travel and the ways we can augment it—like what I'm about to do that will make the first thing your twin consumes act as a catalyst for your possession. Memorize it, add to it what you think you should, and pass the memory of it on to your successor."

Lysander flipped through the pages too fast for George to read much of anything. _I guess I'll be revisiting this memory a lot in the near future._

The blond closed the book. "I know that you're in a critical time and you have to be careful about where you focus your energies, but I ask that you prepare your successor as soon as possible. If you die and the information is not passed on, those dark times prior to you will be locked into history forever. Voldemort and Grindelwald destroyed so much and we can change that. So you were right: I want you to change the timeline and change it a lot. I figure you already are by the time you relinquish this memory to prove your origins. If it's before Halloween of 1990, I'd appreciate it if you saved Grandma Lovegood before her experiment goes wrong in front of Mum. And if for some reason George isn't in the Pensieve right now, could you get him to watch all of this please? Thanks and good luck."

The memory resumed exactly as George remembered, and at its conclusion, he emerged from the Pensieve.

"Do you have any candidates in mind for your successor?" Dumbledore asked. Apparently in the time George was in the Pensieve, the Headmaster had sorted out everything in his mind and was now back to his usual calm demeanor.

"The only trustworthy twins alive now that I know are the Patil twins," George said, "and they're not going to start Hogwarts until next year. I'd rather get someone who is of age already if it's at all possible. And now I _really_ wish that either Uncle Fabian or Uncle Gideon had survived that Death Eater attack since that would make this a _lot_ easier."

"I'll make some inquiries and get back to you later," Dumbledore promised. "In the meantime, you have a line of people who you promised memories for."

* * *

After George gave everyone their memorial tours, he decided to continue to use the Pensieve to study the Memory Book. Time travel was proving to be both less and more complicated than he had expected.

The mechanism to travel through time was a simple one: just an incantation. Not even a wand was necessary. Just saying the incantation out loud would send a signal to something called the Server of the Universe. The Server would then redirect all temporal energy in the universe that was available at that point in time and focus it on the person casting the spell. The purpose of the signal was to allow large-scale corrections to happen, but only as a last resort. The person who spoke the incantation could, with the theoretical help of some unknown entity outside even the multiverse, channel the temporal energies into moving someone else a certain amount of time. In the version of the universe the channeler remained in, it is postulated that time travel would cease to function until the temporal energies could be renewed. The individual who was catapulted through time, however, would still be able to use the temporal energies that existed prior to the divergence to fling yet another back through time, and so on.

The role of the channeler was the hard part and, of course, was the part George would have to take whenever he got around to sending someone back in time. It generally involved him perfecting his focus such that he did not think of anything except for the target person existing in the target time. Fortunately, it seemed that Occlumency would help him do that. Unfortunately, George's Occlumency abilities weren't exactly something to be proud of. He had been able to convince the healers at St. Mungo's that he was crazy when they probed his mind and not much else.

After he emerged from his study in the Pensieve, he brought his concerns to Dumbledore.

"It seems to me that you should make use of your former Potions Master," the Headmaster suggested. "His skill with Occlumency greatly exceeds my own."

"And here I thought you only pushed Harry onto Snape as a second choice," George said. "So, I guess I'm off to the dungeons."

"Actually, Severus is currently on Sabbatical," the Headmaster corrected.

"What?" George asked. "Why would he want to do something like that?"

"I insisted that if any of my professors will be looking for Voldemort, it should be him," Dumbledore replied. "It would strengthen our control over the situation, certainly."

"I guess," George muttered. "So where is he now?"

Dumbledore shrugged. "He plans to wander Europe looking for clues to his former master and he'll try to throw off anyone who might be following him. Would he recognize your Patronus if you sent it to him?"

"Only if you told him what it looked like," George replied. "I guess I'll have to use trust passwords to get him to meet me. Expecto Patronum!"

George's bright raccoon jumped out of his wand. _Prince, you have 60 seconds to use Muffliato on anyone who might need it. If you are not the intended recipient, please disregard this message._

The raccoon headed south towards Snape and, one minute later, George cast another Patronus for his old Potions professor. _Hi, I'm Saintlike. Don't believe me? I once got a sword by fighting skeletons. To prove that I know more than someone like me ought, you accused a flower of being dirty after having your robes upturned. Worst. Memory. Ever. I'll wait for you at the most famous Muggle place in France in exactly a week. We need to talk, but there's a couple of things I need to do first._

* * *

George decided to save the Polyjuice for later and went to the Lovegoods' house while under heavy transfiguration. He knocked at the door and soon a blonde woman answered it.

"Greetings," the woman—Mrs. Lovegood, George presumed—said. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

George held up his hand, which he had marked with the sign of the Deathly Hallows. "I understand that at least one person here is on the Quest?"

"Xeno is," Mrs. Lovegood said, "but I tend to focus on other mysteries of the world. Do come in—he's conducting an interview for _The Quibbler_ at the moment, but he should be done soon."

"Thank you," George replied as he stepped into the circular kitchen. Luna was painting a strange little fish onto one of the cupboards.

"What kind of creature is that, Luna?" George asked.

"A Gulping Plimpy," Luna replied. "How do you know my name?"

"I'm something of a seer," George said with a grin. He _had_ seen the future, just not with any method his old Divination professor would have considered valid.

"You should talk to Mummy about that, then," Luna replied. "She wants to develop time travel that allows for paradoxes and she thinks seers can change the future."

George was stunned. _Luna lost her mother to time travel?_ "I think I could make time for her." _Her grandson went back in time and sent me farther back to save her life. Yeah, she's not going to get rid of me anytime soon._

Mrs. Lovegood smiled. "Have you seen the conversation we are having right now, or should I consider you a fraud?"

"Neither," George replied. "I just think that whatever you are going to try on Halloween is going to backfire."

"What do you know of my experiments?"

"Not much," George admitted. "I just know that your experiments are dangerous and you should stop before someone gets hurt."

"All Hallows Eve is the time when the veil is thinnest. That means that the laws of our world are more malleable. If there is anytime where we can mold time to mortal will, it is then. I am planning to induce a paradox then and if you saw it going wrong, that is why: you saw the potential failure while the reality is the success. Successful paradox."

"That's not how time works," George said. It was a good thing that he had been studying the Memory Book or he'd probably end up sounding like an idiot. "The universe allows for minor duplication of certain things, provided that the timestream is stable, but greater time travel is not within our grasp without sacrificing the universe itself. Trying to harness temporal energies—even on a Time-Turner level—is extremely dangerous. You are not an Unspeakable, Mrs. Lovegood. Let the professionals do what they are trained to do and maybe we can create paradoxes in a few generations from now, but not now."

"You aren't here for Xeno, are you?" Mrs. Lovegood asked.

"Well, I thought I'd tell him that I had seen the Master of Death, but my act of observing it may have made it unlikely to happen."

"So there _is_ a link between time and death?" Luna asked.

George shook his head. "Not inherently except that, given enough time, everything will die. Though, of course, given enough time, practically anything will happen. What matters is _how_ those things happen, Mrs. Lovegood, and I am going to do everything I can to stop you from giving your daughter a reason to see Thestrals. _Do not mess with time_."

"You really have seen the future, haven't you?"

"And I've been doing my best to correct it," George replied. "I can't see how my revisions will affect things until they happen in real time, but I'm still the best seer you're going to get and I can guarantee that nothing good will come from your attempt to change the nature of time."

Mrs. Lovegood nodded. "Very well. I will refrain."

George took that as his cue to leave.

"Wait!" Luna said as she chased him outside. "Who are you? Aren't you going to talk to Daddy?"

"Would you believe me if I said I was Harry Potter?" George asked. Luna's eyes bulged at him. "I'm not him, but that's as good as an alias that you're going to get right now. If the real Harry fulfills his destiny, I'll be sure to come and let you know."

And with that, George Apparated away to begin his journey to France.

* * *

Severus Snape stood next to the Eiffel Tower. He had no idea what the Saintlike One was playing at, but hopefully he would get some answers.

Severus heard a voice speak in his ear. "What is the deadliest spell in the Half-Blood Prince's Potions textbook?"

"Sectumsempra," he replied. "Are you the Saintlike One?"

"Yep," the voice said. "But you should ask a security question anyway."

The Potions Master thought a moment. "What was the first thing you checked in Dumbledore's office the night of the sword?"

"Pensieve. It was empty."

Severus nodded. "What do you want with me?"

"Not here. I'm Apparating us somewhere else." An invisible hand touched his shoulder and there was the familiar sensation of being sucked through a tube. They emerged in a dark bedroom of some sort.

"Okay, we have about twenty minutes before the hotel's cleaning ladies arrive, so I'll have to give you the condensed version," the man said as he became visible. Severus recognized him as the one-eared barman responsible for Black's escape: James Oliver.

"You cannot truly be the Saintlike One," he said flatly.

"If this is about your grudge against Sirius, he's been in Azkaban for something he didn't do," Oliver said. "If all the Potter-traitors are going to have a party, you're going to have to spend it with Pettigrew, not him. And I'm wasting time. Basically, what you need to know is that I'm a time traveler from the far future and I plan to stop Voldemort from starting a second war. Dumbledore suggested I learn Occlumency from you."

"I think you should return to St. Mungo's," Severus said.

"Probe my brain," Oliver said. "I need serious help with my Occlumency anyway, so we can hit two brooms with one Bludger."

Severus shrugged and decided to humor the man. "Legilimens!"

The shields were, in fact, quite pathetic and Severus went immediately for the traumatic memories. He found the incident where James Oliver lost his ear and, to the Potions Master's surprise, an older Severus seemed to be the one casting the spell. That spell was one he had invented in his youth and never used on another human being, even in his darkest Death Eater days. But Oliver had all but confessed earlier that he'd gone snooping through Severus' old Potions textbook, so it was possible he had tried it out and subconsciously reconstructed a memory with it that the crazy man would perceive as real. Severus left the memory as quickly as possible and he tried to find something legitimate and without his face in it.

Some memories were locked up tightly and Severus recognized when there would be no point in going against them, unless he wanted to put more time than Oliver was worth into it. He stumbled across one that didn't seem too special at first, save for the somber undertone: Oliver, before the loss of his ear and with red hair, was with a double of Potter and one of himself.

"Harry," Oliver's Doppelganger said. "I know that everyone knows what happened now, but I still can't believe it."

"Me neither," the memory of Oliver added. "You were there. You saw it. Please just say it and maybe it'll finally sink in."

Potter's double took a deep breath and spoke. "Snape killed Dumbledore."

_What? _Snape thought. _ I would _never_ do such a thing! Why is he making this up?  
_

Back in the real world, Oliver seemed to read his thoughts, though Severus knew his Occlumency was better than that. "Yes, you killed him, but you did it for a good reason. Harry later named one of his kids after you and Dumbledore, after he found out that you loved Lily and sought redemption for telling Voldemort about the prophecy."

"Why did Dumbledore tell you that?" Severus hissed. The Saintlike One had earlier implied that he knew of Severus' worst memory, but there had been several students there and it was possible that one of them talked. No one but Dumbledore and himself, however, had known the reason Severus had defected. "Your grip on reality is _tenuous_ at best. Has your insanity increased Dumbledore's?"

"Dumbledore tells me hardly anything, especially not things strictly between you and him," the Saintlike One said. "In 1998, you gave Harry a bundle of memories so that he would know he could trust you when you relayed Dumbledore's instruction to eliminate the Horcrux within himself. I didn't see the memories myself, but I know what was in there. For one, you watched Lily and Petunia on the swings right before you told Lily about our world and her heritage."

And there it was. A detail no one would know unless Severus himself had revealed it. Lily and Petunia would never have thought of mentioning what happened before that historic meeting and Severus certainly hadn't mentioned it to anyone. Dumbledore, let alone his new lackey from nowhere, couldn't have known unless the Saintlike One was telling the truth.

"You're a time traveler," Severus said.

"Yep."

"And you know everything about me."

"Well, not _everything_," the Saintlike One said. "I'm sure there were plenty of things you decided to keep to yourself even through death, but I could probably predict what you would do in a wide variety of situations."

"You let me see those memories, didn't you?" Severus asked.

"Maybe a little," the Saintlike One grinned, "but you probably would have been able to break through anyway. I'm pretty haphazard when it comes to focusing my brain."

"If you simply show me your memories I won't be able to assess your Occlumency properly," Severus chided.

"Fine, I'll go into total lockdown." A dead look came across the Saintlike One's face and Severus launched his attack in full force.

The Saintlike One's mind did not seem as pathetic as the initial probing had indicated, but there was still plenty of room for improvement. Severus was only able to unleash complete memories a couple of times (and then only of something wholly irrelevant) but the emotions behind most of the memories bled through.

"You are trying too hard to protect your mind and not doing enough to conceal it," Severus said.

"Isn't that the same thing?"

"Definitely not. The fact that you are protecting something implies that your mind contains something of worth, and you have left hints about what they mean to you. A good Occlumens is able to reflect whatever sort of person they want someone to believe they are, and that usually means camouflaging their minds to look like someone unversed in Occlumency methods."

The Saintlike One nodded. "Oh, and through all of that, did you ever pick up on who I really am?"

A smile nearly touched Severus' lips. "Of course: you are Fred Weasley."

The Saintlike One chuckled. "Actually, I'm George, but close enough." The sound of an Intruder Charm rang out. "And that's our cue to leave."

"Goodbye then," Severus said, but the one-eared man grabbed his arm before he could Apparate away.

"I probably should have told you that Dumbledore was fairly insistent that I stay with you for a while."

Severus groaned internally. "How long?"

"Either after I become an expert Occlumens or when you meet up with ol' Moldy-shorts—whichever comes last."

This time the Potions Master could not keep the groan from escaping his mouth as the old version of George Weasley Apparated them out.

* * *

Author's Note: And I'm back! I've got a pretty good idea of how it all ends now, but that doesn't mean that I'm not going to add something I didn't expect as I finish up. There will be a minimum of five more chapters, though likely more than that.

Also, I've updated the summary to be a better reflection of the story's content. The earlier summary promised more of a humorous bent—and while I think I have given it to you, this story tends towards the more serious side of things.

And maybe I'm just flattering myself, but if anyone wants to use any of my ideas for your own work, go ahead. Just let me know so I can send people after it—and so I can read it myself ;).


	17. Chapter 17

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, who isn't me. The only profit I get from this is personal satisfaction.

* * *

Ratted Out

* * *

Sirius found it strange to look at a twelve-year-old kid and recognize he was actually a man older than him by more than a decade, but Saint George was traveling the continent with Snivellus and it was easier to have a conversation with a possessed Young George than to use Patronuses all the time.

"Why aren't we in Dumbledore's office?" Old George asked. It was a valid question, considering that they were in the Ancient Runes classroom.

"We decided that someone would notice that we were always sneaking there," Fred said to his older twin, "so going somewhere different every time would throw people off the trail. Professor Dumbledore will pick a random spot and we'll find him with the map."

"Oi! It's not just any map," Sirius said. "It's _my_ map!"

"Anyway, do we know what we're going to do about the rat?" Old George asked. "I left him some food, but it won't last forever."

"Why don't you just let me eat him?" Sirius asked.

"You already know the answer to that," Old George replied before turning back to Dumbledore. "Professor? The rat?"

"Right after Halloween, the Wizengamot usually gets a head start on dealing with the mischief caused the previous night, and most of the Aurors are still working in the field, so their inclination to curse first and ask questions later should not interfere should Pettigrew and a 'known' criminal show up," Dumbledore explained.

"So I get a break from learning Occlumency?" Old George asked.

Dumbledore shook his head. "Sirius will almost certainly be pardoned, but we don't have enough evidence to pardon you as well, so he will be the one to bring Pettigrew in. It is widely known that James Oliver does not exist, after all."

"Understandable," Old George said with a shrug.

"Well if you're spending your time with Snivellus, you might as well be on the side of ambiguously evil," Sirius said. If he was being honest, Sirius was still surprised that Snape was against Voldemort at all, but in retrospect it was completely obvious that Snape was in love with Lily and would do almost anything for her.

"If Dumbledore hadn't insisted on it, I wouldn't be anywhere near him!" Old George insisted.

"Either way," Dumbledore said, "it is to our benefit that you may interact on a personal level with both enemies and allies who are already have developed their biases towards my Potions Master. In other news, I think I have found a suitable candidate for you to send back in time, provided that he is able to go back to the moment of his birth."

"As far as I know that shouldn't be a problem," Old George said. "Who is it?"

"Remus Lupin," the Headmaster replied.

"_What_?" Sirius and Old George cried at the same time.

"Sorry," Fred said, "who exactly are we talking about?"

"It's Moony," Old George explained. "But I've never heard anything about him having a twin."

"Me neither," Sirius added, "And I roomed with him for seven years and knew all about his furry little problem. I'm pretty sure I'd have found out about a secret twin brother."

"From what I have gathered, it is quite possible that Remus himself did not know of his twin," Dumbledore explained. "The Healer who was supposed to oversee their labor was indisposed at the time and so an inexperienced one did so instead. Romulus Lupin was lost to the world within an hour of coming into it, but a twin brother identical to him in every way somehow survived. I had to speak to that Healer to discover that Romulus existed at all."

"And you think Remus will be able to save Romulus?" Old George asked.

"He's a bright man and if he knows what to look for, he should do fine. Of greater concern, however, is helping him to control and hopefully conceal his nature once he is in the past."

"I'm still lost here," Fred said.

"You remember my memories of our fifth year Defence professor, right?" Old George asked. "Well, he's a werewolf, but a really nice one. Bill's eldest fancies his son."

"Moony had kids?" Sirius laughed. "I thought he'd _never_ do it!"

"The witch in question was very persistent," Old George said. "But if we send him back in time, I'm afraid he will end up dying alone and he deserves better than that. Remus is a much better option than the Patil twins, but could you keep looking, just in case, Professor?"

"I will, but do not get your hopes up," Dumbledore said. "Discovering Remus' history was pure chance."

"In other words," Sirius said, "get ready to add him to the Outcasts Club."

"You're just jealous that we didn't invite you," Old George replied.

"Well, _I_ have to check on Peter," Sirius pretended to pout. "Now where is he?"

"I'll possess myself and get him for you sometime on Halloween. There's no way I'm telling you about my super-secret hiding place."

* * *

Peter Pettigrew, also known as Wormtail and, more recently, Scabbers, had been stuck in a jar for what was surely months. He had a feeling that one of the twin gingers' pranks had gotten out of hand and they had left him in the attic while he was asleep that June day. Fortunately, they had left him plenty of food pellets—even if they did taste nasty. Unfortunately, the jar had an Unbreakable Charm on it, so even the couple times Peter tried to turn back into a human proved unsuccessful. He would probably end up being found sometime around Christmas, but he wasn't sure if he would last that long.

He heard rustling and promptly curled up into a little ball and covered his little ears. He waited for the sound of banging on the pipes, but nothing came. Then he saw a light appear on the floor in front of him. _I'm saved!_ Peter thought happily as he looked up at the ginger twin boy and danced around to catch his notice. Then he noticed something strange about how he was walking.

_Is he under the Imperius Curse or Confundus Charm? But why would anyone put him under those? It's not like he can do anything important, unless..._ Peter gulped. _Unless Sirius got out and is looking for me._

_But that's crazy—no one can escape Azkaban! And even if he did, he'd never expect to find me here. I'm safe. Maybe one of the Death Eater's kids was practicing on him and found out about this horrible prank and sent him to save me! That has to be it!_

What little effect Peter's reassurances to himself vanished when the ginger twin took him down the ladder and stairs to the Weasley family fireplace and grabbed some Floo powder.

"12 Grimmauld Place!"

They rematerialized in front of a bloodthirsty-looking Padfoot. Peter shivered.

"Thanks, kid," Sirius said as he took the jar. "Now go back to school and tell no one of what happened tonight."

The boy nodded, still with a dead expression, and went back through the fireplace.

"Now, Wormtail, you have no idea what I'd like to do with you, but don't worry. You have to be alive to get me pardoned. But you don't have to be in a good condition, as long as what I do to you is _technically_ not illegal either."

Peter gulped and wished that he was back with the ghoul in the attic.

* * *

Dumbledore went into the Wizengamot meeting as if he had no prior indication of what was to unfold that day. He greeted the new Minister of Magic and a few old friends as he went up to the Chief Warlock seat. Saint George had warned him of what Cornelius would become one day, but Dumbledore doubted that the Minister would be so eager to be his own man this early in his ministry.

The meeting began with ratifying of things that needed to be ratified when the doors flung open and Sirius dragged a terrified Peter into the room.

"I heard you were looking for me," Sirius said. "You should have been looking for _him_."

"Merlin's Beard! That looks like Peter Pettigrew!" one of the court members said.

"That's because he _is_ Peter Pettigrew," Sirius said dryly. "Someone tipped me off that Peter survived his little stunt—a newspaper clipping that rearranged a bunch of letters—and I knew that if I could find him that there'd finally be some justice for the man who _really_ betrayed Lily and James."

Dumbledore conjured ropes around both Sirius and Peter. "I think this series of events has called for the use of Veritaserum on both of these men who have been missing for quite some time," he said quietly.

"Absolutely," Cornelius Fudge agreed as he pointed to a witch who promptly ran out of the room.

"I just want to know who sent me that newspaper and why he didn't catch Peter himself," Sirius complained loudly.

"It seems you haven't been reading more recent newspapers," Dumbledore said. "A man named James Oliver confessed to aiding your escape. Unfortunately, he is proving as evasive as you were until just a moment ago."

Sirius cursed under his breath. "I don't think I've ever heard that name in my life."

The witch who had left earlier returned with a small bottle and placed several drops into Sirius' and Peter's mouths.

"State your name," Dumbledore said.

"Sirius Black."

"Peter Pettigrew."

"Perhaps it will be easier if we start with one of you," Dumbledore said. "Mr. Pettigrew, where have you been these last nine years? To the day, now that I think about it..."

"I was hiding at the Burrow," Pettigrew said.

"By that you mean the Weasley residence, I assume?" Dumbledore asked. "But I'm sure they would have noticed you some time ago."

"They didn't know who I was," Pettigrew said.

"And who do they believe you to be?"

"Their rat, Scabbers."

Gasps erupted from the members of the Wizengamot who understood what that meant.

"Are you an illegal Animagus, Mr. Pettigrew?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes," Pettigrew replied.

"And your form is a rat?"

"Yes."

"Quite an accomplishment," Dumbledore conceded. "And how long have you been a rat?"

"Sirius, James, and I all became Animagi our fifth year. To help Remus while he was a werewolf."

"And by James you mean James Potter, not James Oliver," Dumbledore clarified.

"Yes," Pettgrew replied. "Don't know any Olivers."

"Fascinating," Dumbledore said as he walked towards Sirius. "So, Mr. Black, did you use your Animagus abilities to escape Azkaban?"

"Yes," Sirius said.

"At the prompting of Mr. Oliver, correct?"

"I assume so," Sirius said, "though I've never met anyone of that name before." _Technically that is true, _Dumbledore thought, _but of course you leave ambiguity in case Saint George needs to use the Oliver identity again. Good man._

"Did he even do _anything_ to warrant his time in Azkaban?" one of the court members asked.

"Besides breaking out, no," Sirius replied.

"Mr. Pettigrew," Dumbledore asked, "do you concur with this assessment?"

"No," Pettigrew replied.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Really? What happened the 1st of November in 1981?"

"I was Lily and James' Secret Keeper," Pettigrew said. "I found their bodies next to the Dark Lord's. I panicked and took his wand and hid it. I think I told some wizard who was concerned about me being out alone that You-Know-Who was dead and they went to spread the news. But I was mostly trying to hide before Sirius came and killed me. He eventually tracked me down and I acted like he was the one to betray the Potters and then I blasted the street wide open while cutting off a finger for evidence and transforming into a rat. I thought I'd be okay, with Sirius locked away forever. It was fair, he _did_ try to kill me, and I wouldn't survive a moment in Azkaban. Sirius would have told the Dark Lord where they were hiding if he and James hadn't tried to be clever and made me do it."

"I would have _died_ rather than betray my best friend!" Sirius roared.

"What I'd like to know is why none of this came up in Black's trial earlier," the Minister said.

"I never got one," Sirius replied.

"What?"

"I believe Mr. Crouch delayed many of the trials of the 'certainly guilty' indefinitely," Dumbledore explained. "Others in that category include Mr. Dolohov, Mr. Mulciber, and possibly someone I forgot. Even if it is unlikely that they are innocent as well, we should probably ensure that we carry out the law properly now."

"I absolutely agree with you, Albus," Fudge said. "I will not let my time as Minister be tainted by our dark past, and so we shall make sure the untried become so, including these two."

Dumbledore nodded and looked at Sirius who was grinning like a maniac. The only thing that could make this better is if they were able to reveal that the younger Barty also still lived, but there was no good way of doing that. Yet.

* * *

All of the hubbub associated with Sirius' trial and the aftermath covered by the papers took longer than he expected it would. The whole time, all Sirius wanted to do was to go find Harry and act like the godfather he was supposed to be and now he was finally free to do it.

The one major hang-up was Lily. In her will, she had provided that, should she enact her blood magic, that Harry technically reside with his aunt until he became of age, and Dumbledore had followed through with that bit. Lily had made it abundantly clear, however, that Sirius was to take the main role of guardian. While it was understandable that Dumbledore didn't insist on that nine years ago, Sirius was quite adamant that it be rectified at soon as possible. He'd even wanted to meet Harry back when he was still on the run, but Old George had said that Harry's morals probably weren't very corrupted yet so he'd probably notify the police. And so Sirius had remained as patient as he could and tried to not go crazy while around other people, albeit with mixed success.

Now, though, Sirius was free to run up to Harry and give him a big hug. He didn't do so, exactly—it was more of a slobbery kiss, but Sirius decided on being a dog for their first meeting, as well as the next few meetings, so he didn't terrify the poor kid.

It was after Padfoot scared Harry's cousin Dudley off from picking on him that Sirius thought it might be time to introduce himself properly. He led Harry to a spot in the park that was deserted and barked.

"What is it, boy?" Harry asked.

Padfoot took a few steps back and changed into a human. "Hello, Harry."

Harry gaped in shock.

"It's okay, Harry. I'm Sirius. I want to help you."

"With Dudley?" Harry asked.

"Among other things. I'm your godfather. I haven't been able to meet you before now, but I have always wanted to be a part of your life."

"A dog is my godfather?" Harry asked.

"Well, James always called me a dogfather, but I was born human—a wizard. As were you."

"I'm a what? I can't be a... but I'm just Harry."

"And I'm just a man who was best mates with your dad," Sirius replied. "He was a wizard and your mum was a witch. They died protecting you from the evilest wizard who ever lived."

"But my aunt and uncle said—"

"Do you really think they've never lied to you?" Sirius asked. "They hate anything that isn't part of their nice and neat little reality—you know that better than anyone. They think a car crash is normal, but it's a lie and the truth—no matter how impossible it might sound—is always preferable to a lie. An evil man named Lord Voldemort wanted you dead—I don't know why, but I can probably introduce you to someone who does later. Voldemort killed your dad, then your mum, and then he tried to kill you. The spell backfired and you got a scar to prove it."

Harry's hand instinctively went to the lightning scar that had been on his forehead for probably as long as he could remember. "Why didn't it work?"

"Your mum died for you and sealed some protective magic on you. Dumbledore—he's the greatest wizard who ever lived—decided that you would be protected by living with the blood of your mum. Your aunt. I know she's a poor excuse for a guardian, but your safety ranks just slightly higher than happiness on Dumbledore's priority list. Now that I'm here, though, I'd like to make up for the lifetime of not being there for you and make sure you're happiness needs are fulfilled. Do you understand?"

"I can't live with you, but you'll be around?" Harry asked.

"You got it, kiddo. And let me tell you, you are going to have a much more awesome life now."

* * *

Remus wasn't really sure what he was doing in the middle of Yugoslavia, but Dumbledore had asked him to meet Severus Snape and a mystery companion for some reason and the werewolf liked to think that his old Headmaster tended to have good reasons. Remus just hoped he wouldn't be asked to participate in whatever conflict that seemed to be putting the local Muggles on edge.

"Lupin!" he heard a voice behind him call. Remus turned to see a middle-aged man with a grin more befitting of a five-year-old.

"May I help you?" Remus asked.

"Not as much as Sevvy and I are going to help you," the man replied.

_How did he manage to convince Snape to let him call him that?_ Remus wondered. "What should I call you?"

"Sevvy calls me Oliver but I prefer Old George. Unfortunately, what I prefer might get me killed so you can call me whatever tickles your fancy that isn't that."

"So, Oliver," Remus said, "what exactly am I doing here?"

Oliver shook his head and tapped his head at where there used to be an ear. "Too many ears here. Follow me."

And so Remus followed a strange man all over the place until they simply Apparated into what appeared to be a closet. Snape was sitting on an upside-down bucket looking bored.

"That took you longer than it should have," Snape noted.

"Just making sure no one was following us, Sevvy," Oliver replied.

"Please do not call me that ever again," Snape said coldly.

"Only in public settings where I might be overheard and I don't want them to know it's you," Oliver said. "Other times, Snape it is."

"Can you tell me what's going on _now_?" Remus asked.

"Welcome to the Outcasts Club!" Oliver said. "Snape here has been tutoring me in Occlumency for the past few weeks and Dumbledore thought it might be good for us—that is Snape—to train you too."

Remus' eyes narrowed. "What kind of training?"

"Well, besides Occlumency, you should probably learn to brew the Wolfsbane Potion, and there's also a certain medical procedure you should be aware of, but seeing as neither Snape nor myself know the details on that one, we'll figure it out later. Basically, I have a mission for you and, should you choose to accept it, you'll need to be self-sufficient."

"I _am_ self-sufficient," Remus defended.

"Mostly I agree, but your furry little problem might be something of a complication if anyone finds out about it, among other things," Oliver said.

"Stop circling around the topic," Snape snapped. "Lupin, Oliver here is planning on sending you back in time to stop the Dark Lord's rise to power."

"And to save my uncles—and maybe even send them back in time too—but that's a secondary goal," Oliver added.

"Have you two gone completely mental?" Remus asked.

"Why does everyone assume I'm crazy?" Oliver muttered to himself. "Remus Lupin, have you ever heard of Romulus Lupin?"

"I considered using it as a secret nickname as a kid, but I thought it was too obvious," Remus replied.

"Yes, well," Oliver said as he scratched the back of his head, "Romulus was your twin brother."

"That's impossible," Remus said.

"Well, he didn't live for very long," Oliver conceded, "but your parents had a Remus and a Romulus—it would have made no sense for them to name one of you that without the other. With you and your lycanthropy, I think your parents probably didn't want to add to your guilt so they didn't tell you about him. This is all speculation on my part, so take it as you will. The point, however, is that long-range time travel can be accomplished with identical twins and since you are such a twin, we can send you back to when you were born."

"Why isn't the Ministry involved with this?" Remus asked.

Oliver grinned. "Who says it isn't?"

"We're having this discussion while hiding in the middle of Yugoslavia," Remus said flatly.

"Fair point," Oliver conceded. "Right now, the only other long-range time traveler alive is yours truly. I was born George Weasley and I'm currently a 12-year-old wreaking havoc at Hogwarts. My brother and I found your map, by the way, and we've put it to good use."

"You solemnly swear?" Remus asked.

"That I am up to no good?" Oliver finished with a wink. "Well if you call participating in a prank against the universe several generations in the making, then yeah, you could say that. The question of the day, though, is whether you really want to jump back in time."

"My life isn't exactly sunshine and roses and if I can change the world for the better, then yes."

"Remus Lupin, I know you," Oliver said. "You got me through my Defence O.W.L. and we were in the reorganized Order of the Phoenix together. You got me home when I lost my ear and you died in the same battle as my brother did. So when I say that there are very good reasons for you to stay put, I hope you take me seriously."

"But if I can stop Voldemort—"

"Number one: you got married," Oliver said. "I won't tell you who she is in case I accidentally spoil things, but you loved her and she loved you. Number two: you had a son together—a wonderful son who _did not_ inherit your condition. He wasn't very old, though, when you and your wife joined the final battle against Voldemort and you both died in the process. The boy's grandmother and godfather were largely responsible for raising him and that boy is extremely proud of both of his parents. Number three: if you jump back thirty years, it is highly unlikely that you will ever get to know the witch who accepted you despite everything and who you spent the rest of your life with—and with my current intervention, that potential life together will probably last much longer. Do not simply give that up."

"Says the man who chose time travel," Snape muttered under his breath.

"I regret leaving my family—and that is even with my predecessor deadening my connection to them—but I can't go back to the way things were," Oliver said. "You, Remus, on the other hand, still have your choice and I won't let you make it until you've thought it through. You can stay in the Outcasts Club—Snape's lessons can be useful even if you aren't a time-traveler-in-training. I just won't pass on what time travel information you'd need to know until you've made an official decision."

"Alright, alright," Remus said, "I'll consider all of the facts before utterly changing my whole life. Do you have any books on the subject?"

"You know, the hat really should have put you into Ravenclaw," Oliver chuckled. "But then again, Hermione."

"Hermione?" Remus asked.

"Brightest witch of the generation," Oliver said. "If you hang out for a couple years and become Defence professor again, keep an eye out for her. She figured out your secret after maybe a month or two, though that was largely due to Snape here. His grudge against you was still in effect at the time."

"It still is," Snape said. "I am only involving myself with either of you because Dumbledore requested it."

"Of course it is," Oliver said, "but by the time we're through, I'm going to make us all bestest friends."

"Just as long as Black stays away—" Snape said.

"I'm not going to guarantee that—he named the Outcasts Club, after all—but he's focusing on being a godfather right now and he could probably get by with substandard Occlumency anyway."

"What about the others who you have told about the time travel?" Snape asked.

"Well, Dumbledore already knows how to use it, but it looks like Lee, Tonks, Charlie, Fred, and Young George should all start practicing on their own. Next time I possess myself, I'll try to help them get started if Dumbledore hasn't already, but you'll probably have to do some clean-up later."

"You possess yourself?" Remus asked. "That just means your younger self, right?"

"Yeah, but if you do choose time travel, I do not recommend it," Oliver replied. "One of our rules is no talking about time travel for at least a year—the book says that's how long our revised version of the timestream takes to become 'canon,' and if we alert the 'Editor of the JK-verse' that we don't belong we'd be 'edited out.' One of the authors of the Memory Book my predecessor gave me likes using literary lingo for rewriting history—don't ask. The point is is that if you are possessing yourself and you cannot explain why, then your younger self is going to be absolutely terrified of you."

"Personal experience, I take it?"

"Like you wouldn't believe."

* * *

George, as soon as he gathered all of the young people who knew his origins in the Room of Requirement, clapped his hands together and spoke in an overly excited tone similar to some of his least-favorite professors. "Okay, everyone! I'm going to teach you all about Harry Potter's worst subject: Occlumency!"

Charlie and Tonks exchanged glances. "Are we supposed to have heard of that before?" Charlie asked.

"It is quite possibly the most useful magic that no one's ever heard of," George replied. "Well, it is if you have enemies who can read your mind, and Ol' Tommy-boy just so happens to be very good at it. If you're lucky, you'll never have to see his face, but if he ever finds out about me, we are all dead meat. And the disclaimer: I am currently very far from being a perfect Occlumens—the whole reason that I'm hanging out with Snape right now is so he can get me up to scratch—but I should be able to help you all get to where you need to be. I need to be perfect if I'm going to send anyone else back in time, but you three plus Young George just have to be able to keep everything you know about me under protection."

"Then how exactly is _George_ supposed to learn anything?" Lee asked.

"I think I'll have to become mentally closer with myself," George said. "Fred, with your permission, I'd like to use Legilimency on Young George right before I leave, and if it works, during History of Magic for the next several months. Theoretically, we will be able to sustain communication while I'm in control of my old body. Back when I wasn't sure when you were planning on pranking me, I used the spell on myself so I was aware of what was happening while I was James Oliver."

"You used a spell to read your own mind?" Tonks asked incredulously.

"I also used the Imperius Curse on myself to control my James Oliver movements," George added, "but I'd only consider using it on Young George in an emergency."

"You do realize that we trust you, right?" Fred asked.

"I just don't think it's a good idea for him to be both conscious and powerless. I accidentally used an unforgivable on Tonks and I don't plan to use it on anyone else besides me—and young-me does not count as me."

"Not to sound too eager," Tonks said, "but Charlie and I both have N.E.W.T.s this year and we should use our study-time wisely."

"I wouldn't know, seeing as I dropped out before I could take them," George said with a grin, "but I know your futures are slightly more reliant on test scores than mine, so I'll try to keep that in mind." He lazily pointed his wand at Charlie and said, "Legilimens."

Charlie jerked back as George poked around his brother's brain for nothing in particular. There was lots of memories of Quidditch and talking with Hagrid about various creatures. George also found Charlie's paranoia against the Saintlike One manifest itself through a very long letter to Tonks and he jumped out of his brother's mind before he saw more.

"Sorry about that," George said. "My Legilimency is pretty clumsy, but did you feel any of that?" George asked.

"Oh yeah, I felt that," Charlie replied. "I would have believed that _Merlin_ felt that if I didn't know it was only in my own head."

"Voldemort is not nearly as noticeable as I am," George said, "but now that you have an idea what a foreign presence feels like, you'll be better prepared to repel it. But first let's bring Tonks, Lee, and Fred up to speed and I'll try to stay away from the 'evil Saintlike One' memories this time. Legilimens."


	18. Chapter 18

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, who isn't me. The only profit I get from this is personal satisfaction.

* * *

Out of Mind

* * *

George awoke, but not where he was expecting. He wasn't in the middle of nowhere anymore, but rather in his bedroom at the Burrow. He could already smell Mum's cooking from the kitchen downstairs.

"Morning, Old George," Fred said as he pulled George to his feet with a grin. "Happy Christmas."

"What am I doing here?" George asked. "What do you need?"

"Nothing. George and I just thought you'd like to spend Christmas here this year. He really wanted you to be in control instead of just watching him enjoy Christmas. It's our gift to you."

_I don't ever remember being that thoughtful at this age_. "Tell him my thanks."

"Well, I think part of it was to get out of you testing his Occlumency," Fred whispered, "but don't tell him I said that."

George laughed. "Well, since the Outcasts Club hasn't been keeping track of what day it is, can I go back to my body for a minute?"

"Sure," Fred replied as he drank pumpkin juice.

Back on the continent, George pointed his wand at himself and whispered, "Legilimens. Imperio." Snape and Remus weren't up yet so George transfigured their clothes green and red and decorated a nearby tree. After about ten minutes, he tasted pumpkin juice again and returned to his room while keeping a part of his consciousness with the Outcasts Club.

"You good?" Fred asked.

"Yeah. Is Bill here? Did you ever get around to telling him about me?"

"He has to work," Fred sighed. "We sent him a letter months ago that said that the Saintlike One was no longer a problem—"

"You didn't write that I was George, right? Someone else could find that..."

"We're not stupid, you know," Fred said, rolling his eyes. "But I don't think Bill believed us either. George is pretty sure that Bill thinks we changed our minds too quickly."

"I concur with my younger self," George replied, "and I'll have to visit my older brother sometime to set him straight. Now, though, I've been missing Mum and Dad and everyone so you need to make sure that I don't act overexcited."

"Saint George," Fred said, "it's Christmas. No one is going to notice."

"If I'm giddier than Ron and Ginny combined, yes they will."

* * *

Watching Oliver while he possessed himself and Imperiused himself wasn't usually this bizarre, but today he didn't seem to have very good control. At the most random moments Oliver would start staring out into space with a big grin on his face. Remus knew that it was just because Old George was enjoying his time with his family, but it was still disconcerting.

"Anyway, what were we just talking about?" Oliver asked when he came out of it.

"Nothing," Remus replied. "Snape here was just emphasizing to me how important it is to be careful with wolfsbane so I don't kill myself."

"Again?" Oliver asked. "Snape, you do realize that Remus is not an idiot, don't you?"

"It is in no way advisable to brew a potion of this potential lethality while ill!" Snape insisted. "An extra fraction of a gram in the brew because of his shaky hands could kill him. Lupin may be the first werewolf who manages to make the potion successfully, and that will _only_ be because I plan to watch him like a hawk and stop him from taking his failed attempts."

"Which, again, I am grateful for," Remus said. He looked to Oliver to back him up, but he was staring into space again. This time, though, something felt off.

"Is he going to keep doing this all day?" Snape asked. "He might as well just go into a comatose state and be done with it."

"He was smiling all the other times, right?" Remus asked. "Because he's not smiling now." If anything, it was pure shock—and whatever it was that could send a time traveler spending Christmas with his family into shock _had_ to be important.

Oliver stood up and started walking so Remus followed him.

"Early?" Oliver asked. "There _is_ no early. This wasn't supposed to happen _at all_, Fred."

_Is he doing the same thing with both of his bodies right now?_ Remus wondered.

"Charlie only ever spent time with his dragons," the time traveler said. "He didn't care. But Tonks? Merlin, Remus is going to kill me."

_So he _isn't _talking to me. Tonks...why does that name sound familiar?_

"Don't interfere—don't you _dare_ interfere. Don't even tell Young George. I knew my being here would change things and I deliberately haven't told anyone about who ended up with who since failed relationships are good for you—or so Ginny says, at least. But _this_? Maybe I'll tell them after they've tied the knot—they still have a chance of breaking it off on their own—but _you_ keep that fact locked under all the Occlumency you've got, alright?"

_Doesn't Sirius have a cousin named Tonks?_ Remus thought._ Andromeda or something? But that's her married name. Is Old George talking about her or a relative of hers? And what does it have to do with me?_

"Thanks, Fred," Old George said as he hugged a tree. That's when his fuller consciousness returned. "Do you have any idea why I'm hugging this tree? I don't even like this tree that much..."

"I haven't the foggiest idea," Remus replied. He wasn't sure about what just happened, but he _was_ pretty sure that he did not want to find out. At the very least, Remus had no desire to become a murderer on Christmas, and even if Old George was exaggerating about that part, whatever the time traveler had discovered could probably wait.

"Huh," Oliver said. "Okay then. Did I miss anything this time?"

"Snape said that it's alright if you just keep your mind with the rest of your family," Remus said, "and frankly I agree with him."

"You're sure?" Oliver asked. "You want to spend Christmas just with Snape?"

"I've had worse Christmases," Remus said with a shrug. "You go on."

Old George gave him a grateful smile and collapsed. Remus sighed and dragged Oliver's body back towards camp.

"He's in a coma now," Remus explained as he placed Oliver on his bedroll.

Snape pulled out his wand and, apparently, decided to take the opportunity to examine Oliver's unconscious defensive state. Oliver normally he split his consciousness between his older and younger selves while possessing himself, so Remus figured Snape probably was right to check to make sure Old George's Occlumency was where it was supposed to be. Snape frowned at what he found.

"Does that mean you were able to get in or that he was able to keep you out?" Remus asked.

"Neither," Snape replied. "His head is completely empty."

"So everything's transferred to his younger self's head right now?" Remus asked.

"No. When Dumbledore probed the Saintlike One, he only saw Oliver's active presence there, not memories. It's as if his mind is not kept in his head."

"Then what have you been using Legilimency on before now?" Remus asked.

"Either he has his mind kept inside his head only when his active presence is there," Snape said, "or the fact that his active presence is in its natural home makes his mind more accessible. But why would his mind leave in the first place?"

"Do you think it has to do with him being a time traveler?" Remus asked.

"That is the most likely explanation," Snape said. "We can ask Oliver about it once his Christmas is over."

* * *

The solution to George's problem of whether or not he should send Remus to the past was now elegant: Tonks was planning on marrying Charlie instead. That did not mean that George was okay with it.

He'd always wanted Tonks in the family, of course, but he didn't want the werewolf to get the short end of the stick just because George's presence in the past had encouraged Tonks and Charlie to get to know each other. George hadn't even realized anything was going on between them besides friendship, but it apparently had been going on for months. And their engagement announcement at the Weasley's... George was still completely flabbergasted by the whole thing. He used his Occlumency to hide his true feelings and put out a happy vibe about the new couple, but he knew that Tonks and Charlie had noticed the initial dumbfounding and were going to ask questions sooner or later.

Charlie came by first. "George—or should I say Saint George?—did you really not notice? I thought you were actively trying to get Tonks and I together earlier. Was it just subconscious on your part?"

"Something like that," George replied.

"I definitely have to thank you for that," Charlie said. "I can't imagine life without her. What did I do last time?"

Just because George was in shock didn't mean that he'd lost his sense of humor. "You thought Norberta was more fun," he said with a sly grin.

"Norberta?" Charlie asked, his eyes widening as his jaw went a bit slack. "Okay, I think I finally found someone with a more unfortunate name than Nymphadora."

"Hagrid named her Norbert until you and your dragon buddies found out her gender."

"So Norberta's a dragon?" Charlie laughed. "Old George, don't do that to me again, okay?"

"That's what you get for asking about the nice surprises of the future," George replied.

"I can understand why you wouldn't want to tell Mum who married who—she'd drive all the girls away by acting like a match was 'meant to be,'" Charlie said. "But _I_ have a right to know what happened to me now that I know what I'm doing. And speaking of Mum, are you going to tell her and Dad about you anytime soon?"

_Charlie just _had_ to trade one awkward topic for another..._ George thought."Uh...no?"

"Why not?" Charlie asked. "It's not like Mum can chew you out for it."

"Do you really think that me being 41 too is going to stop her?" George asked.

"Merlin's Beard, you really are still terrified of Mum!" Charlie laughed. "You do realize that keeping it from her is just going to make it worse, right?"

"It's not just that," George said. "Seeing Mum and Dad and everyone for Christmas was wonderful, it really was, but I am not a part of this family anymore. Not really. I'm more like some long-lost uncle than anything—even when I'm in Young George's body. And besides, next year it's going to be really important that we don't slip up about Voldemort and I don't want Mum and Dad involved in that. Maybe after the mess is done I'll tell them, but not before then."

"Alright, if you insist," Charlie sighed. "But what about Bill? He already knows about the Saintlike One, but not about you. You should tell _him_, at least, or he might do something stupid."

"Yeah, I know," George replied. "I was planning on taking a trip to Egypt once I was done here."

"Good. Bill is supposed to be the smart one, but if he doesn't know anything then he can't be much help," Charlie said. "Now go congratulate Tonks and tell her all about what we were supposed to do if you aren't going to tell me."

_Bill..._ George realized._ He might be able to help me figure out what I should do about Remus. I guess I still need my big brother's advice sometimes._

* * *

Author's Note:

Since I doubt they'll have relevance later, here's some answers for Guest I forgot to give last chapter:

I have absolutely no idea what Lysander is up to, so don't expect to see him again anytime soon. As for why Snape thought George was Fred, that was supposed to be just a throwaway gag, but I'll try to justify it. Snape propably can't tell the twins apart except by who is wearing Gryffindor or Slytherin robes—and given that they swap clothes whenever they feel like it...well, Snape had a 50/50 chance at best and got it wrong

—pisoprano


	19. Chapter 19

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, who isn't me. The only profit I get from this is personal satisfaction.

* * *

Sheep in Wolf's Clothing

* * *

Bill Weasley loved working in Egypt. It was unfortunate that he wasn't able to go home and see his family for Christmas, but other than that life was good. _And_ it looked like Charlie had finally discovered that witches exist and had even proposed to one. Bill had always expected to be the first to get married, but if Charlie decided quick like Mum and Dad did, then good for him.

While lost in thought, a wizard Bill didn't recognize approached his workspace. There was something familiar about him, but it was hard to see beyond the wizard's oversized crooked hat.

"May I help you?" Bill asked.

"Yes, I think you can," the wizard replied as he made his hat even more askew. "I'm in a bit of a dilemma."

"What's the trouble?"

"Well, it's like this: I know with absolute certainty that Wizard R and Witch N are perfect for each other and will make each other very happy. I just found out that it's my fault that Witch N has now decided to marry a Wizard C who probably would have died alone, but still happy. Wizard R, on the other hand, has been unhappy for a very long time. Wizard R has yet to meet Witch N and is considering permanently moving far away for a dangerous job. What do I do?"

"Are you sure this is a problem for Gringotts?" Bill asked.

The wizard shrugged. "I trust your judgment and I need to talk to someone who isn't involved or too old or too young or just completely obsessed with a dead woman."

_And so he comes to someone who works at a bank for help? And in the Curse Breaking departnent, no less?_ Bill wondered._ This man_ seriously_ needs better friends. _"How can you know that R and N are perfect for each other?" Bill asked. "That's pretty subjective, compared to the evidence that C and N are in love."

"Just trust me that I'm completely objective about that," the wizard said.

"Alright, let's assume that R and N would be wonderful together," Bill said. "Does that mean that C and N wouldn't? Or that R couldn't meet a Witch X in the place he moves to and find happiness there? It's entirely possible for someone to fall in love with more than one person, you know."

The wizard chuckled. "And as always you're smarter than me, Bill. That's exactly what I needed to hear."

"How do you know my name?" Bill asked. "Have we met before?"

"Yeah, you know me. I'll meet up with you after your shift and we can catch up."

Before Bill could ask anything more, the wizard had tipped his hat and disappeared and someone else was in front of him asking for the kind of help Bill was used to giving. He'd almost forgotten about the troubled wizard entirely until Bill was almost to the Floo that he showed up again.

"Remember me?" the wizard asked with a tip of his hat. "Is there somewhere around town where we can talk without being overheard? Somewhere not too public?"

Bill felt uneasy by the request. He didn't want some strange wizard following him home or doing something to him once they were completely alone. "There's a conference room down the hall that I have access to. I think it's empty now."

"I guess that'll have to do. Lead on."

Once they entered the conference room and found it as empty as expected, Bill was no longer patient. "Okay, we're here. Who are you and why don't I remember you—beyond today, I mean?"

The wizard grinned as he pulled out his wand. "Simple. Expecto Patronum." A raccoon emerged from the wand.

Bill's mouth dropped open. "You. You're the Saintlike One."

"Guilty as charged."

Bill responded by immobilizing the man who had terrorized his brothers for months, though he left the man's mouth free to move so he could explain himself. "What have you been doing with Fred and George?" he snarled.

"Well, lately I've just been teaching them Occlumency," the Saintlike One replied with a disconcerting smile. "And teaching Young George is beyond strange, let me tell you. I have to be _in_ his head while I'm teaching him to keep people _out_ of his head, _including_ _me_. He's getting better, but getting him to a point where he consciously controls my presence will take a little while longer."

"Stay away from my family, or I'll..."

"Yeah, that's the hard bit: I'm also distantly related to your Mum's second cousin, so you and me are pretty much brothers. And since I'm your family, I'm not going to stay away from _myself_ anytime soon."

"Are you toying with me?" Bill asked.

"Can't help it," the Saintlike One replied. "I made fun of Voldemort on Wizard Radio, so there's no way I'm going to _not_ give my brother a hard time."

"We are _not_ brothers!"

"Yes we are. Serious honor to Merlin we are. Despite the fact that I'm a bit older than both of them right now, Molly and Arthur Weasley are my parents. I've used up a lot of temporal energy to get to this year, but I'd like to think that it'll be worth it by the time I get rid of Voldemort."

"You're about nine years too late for that, mate," Bill scoffed.

"Or eight years early. I'm a time traveler and I can prove it."

Bill scoffed again.

"You used to be a time traveler too," the Saintlike One said. "You used a Time-Turner to get to all of your classes and you never told anyone about it."

"My professors and the Ministry knew," Bill said.

"Yes," the Saintlike One said, "but on your last day as Head Boy _someone_ pulled a prank on the entire school, with a particular emphasis on Snape. It drove you spare wondering who had done it until you got a lovely little piece of parchment in your handwriting saying '_I did it._' With the last use of your Time-Turner, you managed to pull a prank on not only the whole school, but on yourself."

Bill's eyes narrowed. "How did you know about that?"

"Well, my sister-in-law and you were swapping stories at Shell Cottage one day and I happened to overhear you two discover that the other had used their Time-Turners in ways that weren't _strictly_ legal right before giving them up. She brought a hippogriff back to life and saved Sirius Black from hundreds of Dementors, but she had Harry Potter's help so that didn't count. Your prank _definitely_ tops it in my book."

"You're impossible."

"Highly improbable, but not impossible," the Saintlike One corrected. "It just so happens that people with already existing duplicates can jump through time on a large scale without the universe finding out that something is very wrong with it."

"And the universe still hasn't noticed you?" Bill asked dryly.

"Well it has _now_, but it's left me here too long for it to simply zap me out of here. It's just waiting for me to die on my own now."

"No," Bill said as he turned away from the Saintlike One. "I don't believe this. People _can't_ change the past. You must have found out about that prank some other way and you're trying to trick me into trusting you like you did with Fred and George."

The Saintlike One sighed. "Bill, what can I do? What can I _possibly_ do that will convince you that I'm your brother from the future?"

"Nothing," Bill replied. "You might be able to pick my head for facts or find out things from people who already trust you."

"Fine," the Saintlike One said. "Take my wand and compare it to Young George's the next time you see him. It was one of the few things I got to take with me from 2018, but if it will help remove your doubt, then I'll gladly give it up."

Bill took the Saintlike One's wand from his pocket and stared at it. It looked exactly like George's wand, only it looked about as worn out as Mum and Dad's. It wasn't absolute proof—Bill was hardly a wand expert by any means—but it was something. A possibility that _maybe_ the Saintlike One really was just George.

"And thanks again for that advice for R, N, and C," the Saintlike One said. "I've already told R that N is no longer a reason to stay in this timeline. I just hope he can find his Witch X when I send him back. Although it should probably be noted that R and N's kid was quite close to your eldest when I left and if that affects my decision, I'm sorry I didn't say anything earlier."

"Saintlike One, what am I going to do with you?" Bill asked. "I won't be able to confirm anything about you for a while and you're just going to keep on blubbering about time travel and being my brother and who knows what else. I don't think I'll be able to stand it."

"How about you hand me over to our least favorite Potions Master?" the Saintlike One suggested. "He's back at the entrance, waiting for me."

"Snape's here?" Bill asked. "Why?"

"_You_ just said you didn't want me talking about my messes," the Saintlike One pointed out. "It has to do with stopping Voldemort from coming back, but I guess that's more than you wanted to know."

"So I'll hand you over to Snape and he can torture you all he likes, right?" Bill asked.

"Pretty much," the Saintlike One replied. "Oh, and a word of advice: learn Occlumency. You shouldn't have any reason to know it all the way out here, but it's a good skill to have when the situation calls for it."

"I'll consider it," Bill said as he disillusioned the still immobilized Saintlike One and carried him back to Snape.

* * *

"I'm back!" George declared when he and Snape returned to the camp that Remus had been guarding alone all day, except when George came and finally told him the news that Remus' wife was engaged to someone else. Fortunately the werewolf hadn't make a big deal out of it and seemed more excited about George letting him becoming a time traveler.

"And the verdict?" Remus asked.

"Bill knows but doesn't entirely believe me," George said. "And now he has my wand, so if you happen to have a spare, that would be great."

"As a matter of fact..." Remus said as he searched his bag. He pulled out a long thin wand and George's mouth dropped open.

"Voldemort's wand?" George asked. "You've had _Voldemort's wand _this whole time and you didn't even say anything?"

"Sirius got Peter to say where he'd hidden it before he dragged him to trial," Remus explained. "Old Padfoot nicked it and passed it onto me right before I came after you guys."

"And then you forgot about it," George finished. "Well, if it's the only spare we've got right now, it'll have to do."

George took the wand and gave it a wave. A couple sparks came out of it, which were a couple more than he expected. And since George didn't expect Ollivander to pop up out of nowhere, he'd have to delay acquiring a new wand until he got back to Britain. Though on second thought, maybe it would be a better idea to visit Gregorovitch. James Oliver _was_ still a wanted man in Britain, after all.

* * *

Remus and Snape waited outside Gregorovitch's wand shop while Old George went in. Several minutes later, Old George emerged.

"So?" Remus asked. "What did you get?"

"19-inch alder dyed silver lime with Chizpurfle sinew core."

Remus and Snape stared at him.

"That can't _honestly_ be what he sold you," Remus said.

"I _refuse_ to buy anything from that guy!" Old George proclaimed. "Gregorovitch, he... Oh, Merlin, I can't even _describe_ it! I'm shaking! Look at me! Still shaking!"

"Oliver, you are over-exaggerating," Snape sneered.

"Fine, I dare you to spend five minutes in there and still think that!" Old George retorted.

Snape went into the shop. Three and a half minutes later, he came back out. "You overreacted," he said, though he did seem paler.

"Then why did you come out early?" Old George asked

"It was not necessary to stay the full time," Snape replied.

"Not necessary, my ear!" Old George spat. "_You_ got the jibblies too! How Riddly-mort managed to torture Gregorovitch, I will _never_ know, but if I'm getting a new wand, it'll be back home! Using evil yew is _nothing_ compared to that!"

Remus just looked back and forth between Old George and Snape. "Are either of you going to explain what was so wrong in there?"

"If you want to be scarred for life, find out for yourself," Old George said as he pointed at the shop door.

Remus decided he could suppress his curiosity. He had enough scars over the years without adding more. And if Snape couldn't handle it, there was no way the werewolf could.

* * *

Several months had passed since the wand incident (since which George had managed by using Voldemort's wand or, more frequently, going wandless), and it was now the start of summer. Remus and George decided it was time to return to the British Isles, as Remus was finally ready to make the jump through time. Snape had decided to stay behind so he could familiarize himself with the Albanian forests without the risk of Voldemort discovering that his supposedly 'faithful servant' wasn't alone. George planned to go back and shadow him once his business up north was done.

Right before they had left the continent, Snape had bombarded both of their brains silly and their shields held, so George theoretically no longer had to worry about whether his former future professor would be okay. Remus simply couldn't wait to jump back. There was just something George wanted to do first, before the werewolf left his home timeline forever.

George—under Transfiguration, as he was still a wanted man—and Remus Apparated to the Burrow and saw the preparations for a celebration that resembled all the Weasley weddings George had attended before, with the closest match being Bill's.

"As much as I'd love to help set up for yet another of Mum's parties," George told Remus, "I need to make sure that you're doing the right thing. Let's go meet your wife."

"Why didn't we come sometime _before_ today to do this?" Remus asked. "The day of the wedding is usually the _worst_ time to tell the bride that she might have chose wrong."

"I wanted to give Tonks and Charlie the chance to figure out if they should be together on their own. And besides, Tonks will either be at her strongest or her weakest today. She'll make the right choice for herself, whatever that ends up being."

Remus frowned. "You're a real Dumbledore, aren't you?"

"Yes, I'm a manipulative old git who is going to be killed by my own nearsightedness someday," George replied dryly. "Now let's head inside and see if we can corner Tonks alone somewhere."

Finding Tonks was easy. Getting her away from Mum and Andromeda was the hard part. Remus stayed out of sight as George told layers of clever lies about Arthur and Ted needing moral support. The two mothers gave each other knowing glances before going to their husbands' aid.

"So, Tonks, you look lovely today," George said when he and the bride were alone. And she _was_ lovely, her natural quirkiness somehow increasing her radiance. George just wasn't quite sure about the fact that Tonks had freckles on her face and hair ginger enough to rival any Weasley. _I guess she really does have her heart set on becoming a part of the family._

"Thank you," Tonks replied graciously. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

"Today, I am using the name Mungo," George said. "As in _Saint_ Mungo's."

"Saint?" Tonks repeated. George smiled and nodded. The girl laughed and hugged the man who was to become her future brother-in-law. "I'm so glad you've come! I thought you and the Outcasts Club were busy."

"Well, I've got something that might need doing in London later tonight, so I thought I'd might as well show up for my brother's wedding," George replied. "But don't be _too_ happy to see me."

"Why not?" Tonks asked. "You're not planning on dying, are you?"

"Not anytime soon, no," George replied. The Memory Book _had_ indicated that there was a possibility that sending a time traveler far enough back in time could destroy the traveler's previous universe—in Remus' case, the one George had jumped to—but that seemed to be pretty unlikely. "I have to inform you, before you make your vows, that you _did not_ marry Charlie in my timeline."

"That's not..." Tonks stuttered as her hair went pale, then burning red. "How _dare_ you! You come to my wedding and tell me I'm marrying the _wrong wizard_?"

"Not wrong, just different. Charlie was perpetually single. If he was going to marry anyone, it'd be you and I'm glad that he's happy. But you should at _least_ meet the man who would have fathered your son if you hadn't discovered my brother first."

George poked his head out into the hallway and motioned to Remus to come in. George stepped out as Remus joined Tonks, so as to give them a sort of privacy, but he couldn't help but listen in anyway.

"So, you're supposed to be my husband?" Tonks asked dryly.

"I still think Old George might have swallowed some insanity-inducing juice," Remus replied. "I'd consider myself the _last_ wizard anyone would want to marry, let alone procreate with."

_For the last time, I am perfectly sane and you did both of those things!_ George thought at the man. _And I thought you were going to call me Mungo!_

"Do you have a name?" Tonks asked.

"Remus Lupin. I was born in 1960 and bitten by Fenrir Greyback a few years later, making me a werewolf. I am perpetually out of work due to my condition and I strongly doubt I could be of much use in a family. Your old Potions professor has spent the last several months teaching me to brew a potion that will allow me to control my behavior in wolf form, but it would still require a great act of kindness for me to be fully employed by anyone aware of what I am.

"I have the potential of doing what Old George did—go back in time—to when I and a twin I didn't know even existed were both born. There I would be a non-entity and, if I am careful, not known for my half-breed status. Old George is stopping the war that is coming. I can stop the war that came. I bet he thought that I might be convinced to stay if I met you. He's told me quite a bit about you, actually. But I think, deep down, that he's accepted that I am useless here and useful in the past. He just wants to make sure I know I've made the right choice."

The two were silent for a moment.

"You're a good man," Tonks said finally. "I can see why I might have fallen for you. But _that_ me did not fall in love with Charlie Weasley like I did. Charlie is the best part of my life and even the most perfect man in the world could not tear me from him now. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm actually quite relieved it's worked out."

"Also, you have my permission as a former Hufflepuff to try and court Professor Sprout back in the past," Tonks said. "Not _immediately_, of course, but since Old George is _so_ anxious to see you get married..."

"Permission noted," Remus said, "though I highly doubt I could ever see her like that. She taught _me _Herbology long before she ever taught you."

Tonks laughed. "Are you going to stay for the ceremony?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

* * *

As soon as Remus and Old George left the wedding, the one-eared man did nothing but quiz the werewolf about things he would need to know. Well, that and Remus brewed his potion. In order to not disrupt his cycle, Remus was going to jump back in time three days before the full moon, as it was the day he was born.

"Okay, what day is it?" Old George asked.

"10th of March, 1960," Remus replied as he finished the last part of the brew. Back when Remus had first joined up with Outcasts Club, Snape had made the qualification for letting Remus brew the Wolfsbane Potion on his own that he brew it correctly for three consecutive moons. There had been plenty of failures, but the werewolf had finally done it. At the very least, Remus would be able to tell when he did it wrong and in that case, he would just go wolf the old fashioned way and try again the next moon.

"What's your name?" Old George asked.

"Ronald James Thewlis," Remus said. He was a bit sad that he'd have to lose his name, but it would be too suspicious if he went by 'Remus John Lupin', so he borrowed given names from Old George's family and James Potter while using the last name of some Muggle actor Old George had pulled out of a hat. "My friends call me R.J."

"Blood status?"

"My parents were both Muggle-born," Remus said. "They home-schooled me."

"Good," Old George said. "Ever hear of the Beatles?"

Remus took a gulp of his potion to give himself time to think of an answer. "Aren't they a band popular with Muggles?"

"Wrong answer," George said as he pulled out a clipping from a pile of newspaper articles he'd gathered, both from Muggle and wizard papers. "According to this, their music isn't widely distributed until 1963."

"Do I _really_ need to know something that detailed?" Remus asked.

"No idea, but it's better to be over-prepared," Old George said. "Are you a werewolf?"

It took a moment for Remus to realize that Old George was quizzing him again. "What context is this being asked under?"

"Curious acquaintance," Old George replied.

"Then no, and that is a _very_ impolite question to ask," Remus chided. "Would you like me to ask whether you suffer from Stinkitus? It doesn't matter whether the medical condition is there or not, it's not at all kind to imply that something is wrong with someone else that they cannot help."

"Same question, now by a Death Eater," Old George prompted.

"If I _am_ a werewolf, then there ought to be a _lot_ more death and destruction around me, shouldn't there?" Remus replied flatly.

"A kid who was just infected with lycanthropy."

"Now that is simply not fair," Remus complained.

"Just do it."

Remus sighed. "I am very close to someone like you. There's a monster inside of you that is impossible to control during the moon, but you shouldn't let the monster take over your entire life. You have a choice to be a human being most of the time. There are many humans who fail at being human while many 'half-breeds' succeed. Choices make you who you are, not your circumstances."

"Where do you go during the full moon?" Old George asked.

"I have a friend who suffers from lycanthropy who I am able to help in a very personal way that I would much rather not get into." Remus said. "Let's just say that animals are soothing to the wolf and leave it at that."

"You're using the Marauders' excuse as a cover for yourself?" Old George asked. "Very nice. What is wrong with Romulus Lupin?"

"Birth asphyxia," Remus said quickly. "He needs oxygen in his blood and he needs it _now_."

The only part Remus was truly worried about is whether he would even be able to save Romulus. There wasn't any real way to practice a medical procedure on a newborn infant, let alone ensure that the healer in the room deferred to him even if by some miracle Remus _did_ do things correctly. Remus didn't think of himself as particularly authoritative, but he'd have to try his best to make sure the healer didn't second-guess the diagnosis and treatment before it was too late.

"Once you're done with that, who do you talk to?" Old George asked.

"Dumbledore," Remus said. "I tell him about Ariana and the Elder Wand. I claim to be a seer who would rather be known for my deeds rather than my predictions for that first year. After that I tell him—and only him—the truth."

"Do you ever tell anyone else who you really are?"

"Not unless it's necessary," Remus said, "and even then it is limited to the Lupins, Prewitt brothers, Potters, and maybe a few other people who are completely trustworthy."

"And when do you send someone else back in time?"

"When their twin is gone, but I emphasize to them that it won't be like having a twin again. Once they agree to everything, I show them the Memory Book."

Old George had spent the last few months meticulously going over every detail of the Memory Book and his own experiences, so the werewolf was confident that he would be able to pass on the secrets of time travel to his successor. Remus would have about a decade before the war really got going, in which he would sabotage it as much as possible. It was even possible that no trustworthy twins would die in the war effort, but Remus found that unlikely. Voldemort had been working on his terrorism project for at least 15 years before Remus would enter the picture, so there was bound to be _some_ senseless death.

"Now name the Horcruxes and their likely locations," Old George said.

"Diary, either with Voldemort himself or a trusted servant. Ring, at Gaunt's Shack—and beware the curse on it. Cup with Voldemort or trusted servant's Gringotts vault. Diadem in the Room of Requirement. Locket in a childhood cave, though it shouldn't be there until 1979. Snake, which shouldn't even exist right now. Harry Potter, if the Killing Curse backfiring happens again."

"Okay, you've taken your potion," George said, "and you know exactly where to go to get ingredients to brew your next one, right?"

"Yes," Remus sighed. "Are you done with the last-minute questions yet or are we going to have to try again at the next moon?"

Old George checked the time and the two Apparated to St. Mungo's. They went to an abandoned closet and George sat on the ground with his eyes closed. "Alright. I need to concentrate, so don't do anything until it's time—unless, of course, you've finally realized that going back in time is a bad idea and want to stop?"

"If I was going to back out, I would have done so by now," Remus said, then kept quiet as he watched Old George regulate his breathing. Remus knelt in front of Old George and waited until the one-eared man pulled out Voldemort's wand and placed it on Remus' temple. This part of the ritual would encase Remus' mind in a nebulous form that would hide him—and the semi-sentient wand bonded to him—from the universe, connected to Remus' body only through his soul.

A moment later, Old George pulled the wand back and set it aside. Now came the hard part. Old George's mind would act as a bridge and anchor for Remus to use to get to his destination thirty years in the past. It required Old George to eliminate the slightest traces of anything that was not required by the spell from his mind. Remus knew Old George was worried about getting it right, but the werewolf had confidence in the old time traveler. Old George had done practically nothing but prepare for this moment for months. It would work.

Old George stretched forth his hands towards Remus and he spoke the incantation that could bend time and possibly destroy the universe: "Confringo Quartamurus."

And Remus was gone.


	20. Chapter 20

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, who isn't me. The only profit I get from this is personal satisfaction.

* * *

Some Loose Ends

* * *

Bill couldn't sleep. He was staying the night at the Burrow before heading back to Egypt and he couldn't get his mind off the fact that he could access George's wand and get a second opinion from Ollivander. He was terrified of what the wandmaker might say about it, though. Ollivander might confirm Bill's fears about how much influence the Saintlike One had over his family. More terrifying would be having to truly consider the Saintlike One family. Bill had managed to distract himself for the most part since the Saint gave him the wand, but the thoughts ate away at him now.

Just as the sun rose, he took George's wand from where Mum had hidden it for the holidays and the Saintlike One's wand. He had to get this over with before he went insane. Looking at them side by side, there was more credibility to the Saintlike One's claims. But Bill knew that Ollivander, at least, could not be fooled. There was a chance that Ollivander might be coerced, but Bill tried to not think about that. He took a deep breath and took the Floo to Diagon Alley and went straight for the wand shop.

The old wizard seemed to be cataloging his supply when Bill walked in.

"Mr. Ollivander, I came by a wand a few months ago and was wondering if you could identify it," Bill explained as he took out the Saintlike One's wand. "I would have come by earlier, but I only got the opportunity to come back to England because—"

"What by Merlin's English oak have you done to your poor brother's wand!" Ollivander cried when he saw the stick in Bill's hand.

"This isn't my brother's wand," Bill insisted. "It just looks like his."

"I would stake my reputation on it: that wand is the wand of George Weasley. But it appears as if it has undergone thirty years of use, not two!"

"You mean it should look like this one?" Bill asked as he took out George's wand.

"That's not possible," Ollivander breathed as he took both wands and began listening to each of them. "They are definitely the same, but I have no idea how both can exist here and now. Wands, like humans, do not make good duplications."

"I've been led to believe time travel was involved."

"Ah," Ollivander smiled, "_then_ it may be possible. I admit I am not very familiar with that particular branch of magic, but that seems the most logical explanation."

"Can you think of any other way to explain this?"

"I cannot. Many a wizard has attempted to duplicate his wand so that he might be capable of dueling with two wands. My great-great grandfather found a wand to be as unique as a human soul and declared such attempts impossible. Apparently your future brother has found a loophole."

"Is it possible that someone else traveled back in time with George's wand in their possession?"

Ollivander put the Saintlike One's wand to his ear again. "The wand still claims George Weasley as his owner. Prior Incantato."

A white light emerged from the wand.

"A Patronus Charm?" Ollivander asked. "Yes, definitely cast by its true owner some...six or seven months ago, I should think?"

"So my brother really _did_ go back in time," Bill said.

"I would check with an expert in time travel before making that conclusion, but I believe so, yes. I will assume that he did so for good reason and so I will not speak of it to anyone."

"Thank you, Ollivander."

"No, thank you, Mr. Weasley," Ollivander said. "I had thought I had seen all there was to see in my field. I am glad to be proven wrong in that regard."

* * *

Bill went to the Ministry in the search of Broderick Bode, a friend of Dad's who worked in the Department of Mysteries. He'd always associated an aura of serene mysticism with the Department. Instead, something had made everyone frantic.

"Do you know where Mr. Bode is?" Bill asked a nearby witch. "I need to speak with him."

"Unless it has something to do with the Time-Turner Collapse, we don't care," the witch replied.

"Time-Turner Collapse?" Bill asked.

"Yes," the witch huffed. "This morning we got the news that Time-Turners have suddenly stopped working. _All_ of them. They're nothing but hourglasses filled with dead sand in them now."

"I _might_ have a lead..." Bill said.

"You aren't just saying that to get in, are you?" the witch asked.

"No, I was definitely planning on talking to Mr. Bode about anomalous time travel before I came in," Bill said.

The witch stared at him a moment, then scowled. "Fine. Down the hall, take a right and look for his name on the door."

Bill complied with the directions and found a very stressed out Broderick Bode behind a desk filled with clutter. Bill was momentarily distracted by some devices on some shelves that reminded him of Dumbledore's office before he reminded himself of why he'd come.

"Mr. Bode? I'm Bill Weasley."

"Hmm?" Bode said as he looked up. "Oh, yes, Arthur's son. I apologize for the mess. It doesn't usually get this bad..."

"I heard about the Time-Turner Collapse," Bill said. "I think I found something of interest to you." Bill pulled out the Saintlike One's wand.

"What is your point?" Bode asked. "I'm afraid I don't have time to draw my own conclusions right now."

"Ollivander confirmed this wand to be exactly identical to one he sold two years ago, only about thirty years older."

"Where did you find this?" Bode breathed as he took out a magnifying glass and began examining the wand with his own.

"It was given to me back in January," Bill explained.

"January?" Bode asked. "No, that can't be right..."

Bill shrugged. "I've been led to believe that the wand arrived in this timeline in September 1989."

"September '89?" Bode repeated as he began searching through a pile of parchments. He paused at one page and mumbled to himself. "Fluctuations a little higher than normal, but not high enough to concern us. Assumed to be a malfunction or a student testing their Time-Turner... Yes! This could be _exactly_ what we are looking for! But why did it take so long for time travel itself to become nonfunctional, I wonder..."

"I'll have to get back to you on that," Bill said.

Bode narrowed his eyes at Bill. "You know who the rogue time traveler is."

"Yes, I do."

"And you _aren't_ going to tell me who it is."

"Only if I later find out that he went dark in his previous timeline," Bill replied. "Circumstances _seem_ to indicate otherwise, but I'll arrange for you to be contacted should something happen to me."

Bode grimaced. "You have no idea how tempting it is to kidnap you just to know the truth. You _do_ realize that this is the most baffling mystery to come to the attention of the Department of Mysteries in hundreds of years, don't you? And that _includes_ the mystery of what destroyed He Who Must Not Be Named."

"You can always try Dumbledore for answers," Bill suggested. "And even if he declines to comment, I'm sure that as soon as the time traveler has finished what he came here to do that he'll explain himself to the Department of Mysteries' content."

"Unless he somehow got himself destroyed by the Collapse," Bode noted.

_The Saintlike One might be dead?_ Bill wondered. He shook his head. "I won't believe that until I find proof otherwise."

"May I at least keep this wand and run some tests on it?" Bode asked.

Bill shrugged. "The time traveler has managed without it for this long. If he tries to get it back from me, I'll direct him to you."

* * *

Alastor Moody was generally considered a gruff sort of man. What most people didn't know was that he would sometimes come to St. Mungo's to visit former Aurors who had become incapacitated.

He still was upset with himself for not being there to help when the Longbottoms were tortured into insanity. Alastor's one consolation about the whole thing was that he'd managed to capture Crouch's evil boy himself, but even _that_ was undercut by the fact that the foul wizard had managed to escape his torture in Azkaban by dying earlier than he should have.

He walked down the hallway and almost didn't notice it, but Alastor's motto wasn't "Constant Vigilance!" for nothing: behind a closed closet door was a man sprawled out unmoving on the floor. The Auror opened the door and got a better look at the man.

"Well I'll be a Niffler's uncle," he chuckled. "James Oliver." What a wanted man was doing unconscious at St. Mungo's was anyone's guess, but Alastor sincerely hoped that Oliver hadn't been hiding in the hospital the whole time. That would be a shame that the Aurors would _never_ live down.

Alastor took the unconscious wizard to an interrogation room, chained him to a table, and gave him a potion that was the Auror's own special secret. It wasn't Veritaserum, but it would do the job required. Even an Occlumens had a hard time fighting it because, while it only made the drinker mildly inclined to speak truthfully, they would be speaking faster than normal, usually fast enough to not realize what they were saying.

The Auror put the potion back in his pocket and left a bottle of Veritaserum out on the table, just out of Oliver's reach. The threat of being forced to be truthful was usually enough to get them to start talking and the potion already in their system would do the rest.

He pointed his wand at Oliver and said, "Rennervate."

Oliver awoke instantly. "Mad-Eye? What am I doing here? The last thing I remember is getting rid of Remus, then I guess I passed out? If that happened to Lysander, I hope he was okay when he was flying... Or will be. Never mind. Do you know who I am?"

"_I'll_ be asking the questions here," Alastor said. Whatever Oliver was babbling about was probably nonsense, but he _did_ find it interesting that the wanted man knew Alastor Moody by sight and by nickname. "Why don't _you_ tell me who you are?"

"So you _haven't_ been talking to Dumbledore about me," Oliver said. "That will make things much more difficult. I didn't exactly have a plan for being captured, so I'm doing a make it up as you go along plan."

The potion seemed to be working even better than usual. This man obviously had very weak filtering abilities or, more likely, still exhausted by whatever had knocked him unconscious in the first place. Of course, the prisoner might just be lying his head off, but Alastor usually got _something_ useful out of any interrogation even when that was the case.

"Answer my question: who are you?"

"I've been calling myself James Oliver since 1989. I wasn't really around before that—at least not in any way you'd recognize as being me. What I was before I was James Oliver doesn't really matter since it isn't going to happen anyway. Is that Veritaserum on the table? The last time I had that I ended up in St. Mungo's."

"I don't have authorization to give it to you yet," Alastor said with a regretful tone, "but as soon as I do, you'll be requestioned. I'd recommend being truthful now instead of later."

Oliver shook his head. "No, Mad-Eye, you're trickier than that. Did someone read my mind while I was unconscious? No, otherwise we'd be talking all about the Saintlike One instead of Oliver."

Alastor pointed his wand at Oliver's face. "What do you know about the Saintlike One?"

"Oh, did Dumbledore have you looking for me too?" Oliver asked nonchalantly. "Didn't he tell you to not worry anymore?"

The old Auror almost didn't believe it. "_You're_ the Saintlike One?"

"Wha... I guess I said that, didn't I?" Oliver asked. "I've been telling you all sorts of things too, haven't I? Okay, you _need_ to talk to Dumbledore. It'll be much easier for me to help with the Voldemort problem outside a cell than inside one. I know! I'll do what Karkaroff did and tell you who to arrest! First, out of moral obligation, I plead with you to lock up Umbridge before she starts hurting children. I have no idea what charge would work for her right now, but she deserves to be trampled by centaurs. And second, and probably more useful for you: Barty Crouch Jr. is still alive and outside of Azkaban. His mum died in his place and his dad has him on house arrest under an invisibility cloak."

_And they say _I'm_ mad..._ "Anyone else?" he asked dryly.

"Well, there's the Death Eaters everyone knows about that weaseled out of it. Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, Macnair, the usual. Don't remember if the Carrows or Yaxley were ever arrested, but they've all served Voldemort. And of course Pettigrew should have been found by now, thanks to yours truly."

"So you confess to breaking out Black and sending him after the rat?" Alastor asked.

"Yep, that was me," Oliver said brightly. "I haven't been reading the papers, but they're probably pretty close to the truth. Where was I? Oh, more people to watch out for! Bagman is willing to bet against children. Thicknese should never get too much power since he's susceptible to the Imperius."

"Aren't most people?"

"Well I can't speak for Fudge, but Scrimingour was able to defy..." Oliver trailed off. "If I keep talking, you aren't going to understand any of it. Go talk to Dumbledore, then things will make sense. Tell him I don't drink pumpkin juice. He'll understand I sent you and am authorizing him to tell all."

"Why not tell me everything now?" Alastor said as he nudged the Veritaserum towards Oliver.

Oliver looked around. "I'm not convinced that this is a secure location. I've already made a mess of things, but the crucial part is still safe. Go before I start hexing you."

"I took the liberty of relieving you of your wand," Alastor noted.

"That's not my wand. _My_ wand is currently in the hands of someone I trust to stop being an idiot and give it back to me someday. Now goodbye, Professor."

Yes, this one was definitely mad as a fwooper, but Alastor figured that he might as well talk to Albus. At the very least, it'd be an interesting story to tell the old Headmaster. Maybe in a few days.

* * *

Although Dumbledore visited the Hog's Head regularly, it was really only for Aberforth that he did so. He greatly preferred the Three Broomsticks, and it was usually there that he could be found when not at Hogwarts or the Ministry or some other place that required Dumbledore's authority. Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody was apparently aware of that fact, as he entered the place and sat down right next to Albus.

"You would not believe who I managed to catch the other day," Alastor said.

"Mr. Crouch's son?" Dumbledore asked innocently.

Alastor scowled. "You know as well as I do that he's long dead."

"Is he?" Dumbledore asked as he sipped his mulled mead. "I must have forgotten."

"Well you and our favorite vigilante are the only ones saying otherwise," Alastor laughed.

Dumbledore frowned. "Where did you find Mr. Oliver? I heard that he was in the country, but...ah. St. Mungo's."

"Do you know how exasperating it is when you jump to conclusions with hardly any information at all and still be exactly right?" Alastor asked. "Albus, I know there is something you haven't been telling me."

"I would like to not infringe on the trust of an ally," Dumbledore said.

"If you're talking about Oliver—who also calls himself the Saintlike One if you weren't aware of that fact—"

Dumbledore smiled and took another drink. "I am quite aware of the various secrets of our one-eared friend."

"Of course you are," Alastor grunted. "He said _you_ should tell me what I don't know. Said you'd understand a comment about him not drinking pumpkin juice."

_Saint George, I believed that you were trying to keep your identity secret to as few people as possible. But, if you are sure, I will allow another into our circle._

"Please come to my office at your earliest convenience," Dumbledore said. "Even though we are not precisely at the Hog's Head, I am wary of who here might overhear something they should not. You will have a hard time believing what I have to say, but know that it is complete truth."

Just then, a small owl flew into the pub and to the two wizards' table. A letter was addressed to Dumbledore, from one Mr. Broderick Bode. The Headmaster read it and tucked it away.

"I think, given the circumstances, that we might invite another wizard to our revelatory meeting. I am sure Mr. Oliver would not object to also fully informing one whom his brother gave incomplete information to."

"James Oliver has a brother?" Alastor asked.

"Even while under Aberforth's employ, he claimed as much," Dumbledore pointed out.

"Great, now we have two of them running around."

Dumbledore didn't respond. He just sipped his mead and considered what modifications to his plans would be necessary, if any.

* * *

Several days after George was brought to the Ministry temporary holding cells, Mad-Eye finally came back for him.

"Your tip about Crouch was good," the Auror said.

"Does that mean the charges against me are dropped?" George asked.

"They haven't decided anything official yet, but since you gave us two Death Eaters we believed to be dead, I think they will be inclined towards leniency," Mad-Eye said. "If freed, your wand will be returned to you, along with the one I found you with."

"Where did you find my wand? Dumbledore?"

Mad-Eye barked a laugh. "The old Headmaster hasn't touched it. _Someone's_ brother gave it to one Broderick Bode when he was concerned about a little thing called the Time-Turner Collapse. Know anything about it?"

"I haven't heard any rumors," George shrugged. Technically that was true. He only had hypothetical knowledge transferred directly to his mind about what would happen to his universe once he sent Remus back. "Did you talk to Dumbledore at all since you last visited?"

"As it so happens, Albus, Bode, and I were having a nice long chat when I acquired your wand. Albus had a fascinating story for us both."

_So he knows. _"Did you believe him?" George asked.

"Do I think a man lost his ear the same night a man was split into seven and the man who Mundungus abandoned died?" Mad-Eye asked. "Yes, I do. And so does Bode."

"Thank you."

"Tell that to Bode. He has a _lot_ of questions for you and I think he wants a copy of your Memory Book."

"Er..." George scratched the back of his head.

"It's not like anything in that book will be able to be used anytime soon," Mad-Eye pointed out. "You certainly saw to that."

"It's just that..." George trailed off. "I guess I _don't_ have a good excuse. Lysander _would_ want me to make sure that the information wasn't _completely_ lost, in case it is needed again. He'd just better make sure that it stays safe when the temporal energies renew themselves enough to repeat the experiment."

"The Department of Mysteries tends to be able to keep a secret," Mad-Eye said. "It'll be fine. As soon as we get the Ministry people on board, you can go do whatever it is that will let you save the world."

* * *

**A Handy List of People Who Know that Old George Traveled through Time**

1. Lysander Scamander (in different timeline)

2. (Old) George Weasley

3. Lee Jordan

4. Fred Weasley

5. (Young) George Weasley

6. Sirius Black

7. Nymphadora Tonks

8. Charlie Weasley

9. Albus Dumbledore

10. Severus Snape

11. Remus Lupin (in different timeline)

12. Bill Weasley

13. Garrick Ollivander

14. Alastor Moody

15. Broderick Bode

* * *

Author's Note:

I've written the end of this story, but I'm still cleaning up things here and there to make sure all as it should be before I post the last two or three (_maybe_ four) chapters for all the world to see. I'd also like to make it clear that I currently have no plans to continue the story of Remus' jump through time—I just wanted to have that subplot wrapped up before the _avalanche_ that you're going to get soon. Don't say I didn't warn you.

All my love,

pisoprano


	21. Chapter 21

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, who isn't me. The only profit I get from this is personal satisfaction.

* * *

If You Can't Beat 'Em

* * *

LORD VOLDEMORT, the Greatest Wizard to Ever Live, did not enjoy being little more than a ghost. It was theoretically better than being an actual ghost, but He was about as useless as one.

He existed in the place where Ravenclaw's diadem had been hidden for so long. The very ground was permeated with magic—whether through the diadem's power or due to the Grey Lady and Bloody Baron dying here, the Dark Lord neither knew nor cared. What mattered was that it had just enough magic to sustain His consciousness. Leaving the forest without a magical source to piggyback on would be next to impossible. He was just so weak.

Nearly a decade, it had been, since He made the miscalculation that sent Him to this wretched state. Ten years and none of His so-called loyal followers had sought Him out. Surely not all of them had gone to Azkaban. The Ministry was too corrupt for it _not_ to be so. That only meant that He had been forsaken, that all His Horcruxes had been for naught. He never should have made them in the first place. Death would be preferable to this powerless existence, this utter abandonment...

He became aware of a sound. Someone walking. _Human_ footsteps walking. It had happened on occasion, but it was probably some filthy muggle wandering the woods as filthy muggles were wont to do. It never was...

"My lord."

The Dark Lord focused on the voice and it amazed Him that He recognized it. "Severus..."

"I apologize for the delay. I convinced Dumbledore that I am a 'changed man' and he made me his Potions Master, though on a short leash. I told him I required Sabbatical and Dumbledore decided to allow it this year, before that Potter boy started Hogwarts and I can 'help protect him,'" he spat. "My loyalty to you, though, has never wavered."

"Are there others?"

"It is possible, my lord," Severus said, "but I think they are either imprisoned in Azkaban or by watchful eyes as I was. I assumed that another would be able to come for you long ago. But many of the free, I believe, enjoy being powerful in your absence and they would only return because of fear, not loyalty."

"As I suspected."

"What is your will for me, my lord?" Severus asked.

That request had an answer LORD VOLDEMORT had longed to say for years. "Bring me the Philosopher's Stone."

"I apologize, my lord, but it has been destroyed. Dumbledore took me into confidence and informed me of Flamel's decision after a failed theft attempt not too long ago."

That was unfortunate. _Very_ unfortunate. The Stone would have been His strongest avenue back to life. But there were other ways...

* * *

Severus helped Voldemort prepare to make a new body. If the former Death Eater had not already become desensitized to the Dark Arts, he would have vomited regularly. In the second week of Severus' assistance, Voldemort had found a snake and named her Nagini. Severus wasn't sure if this was a coincidence or not, but he would be sure to watch the snake carefully in the future.

That particular night, after Severus milked the snake and administered the potion he was still tweaking to increase Voldemort's strength, Severus heard the Dark Lord whisper his name.

"Yes, my lord?" Severus asked.

"Find me a unicorn," Voldemort whispered. "I will drink its blood elixir, as the Stone is no longer available."

Severus perfected his control over his body's reactions and said, "I shall do my best, my lord. But do I dare leave your presence for the time required to find one?"

"I have Nagini," Voldemort replied. "Go, my faithful servant."

Severus nodded and went out in search of a unicorn, though he had no idea how to go about it or even what to do if he did find one.

After about half an hour of hiking through the woods, Oliver finally made his appearance.

"Sorry I'm late, but Mad-Eye was...well, moody, and I didn't want to send any messages that might get noticed," Oliver said. "So what have you been up to?"

Severus explained what the Dark Lord had just requested of him.

"Well, Quirrell and Wormtail both got Voldemort what he wanted in the future," Oliver said, "but _you'll_ probably need some assistance in getting a unicorn to cooperate. You can be evil, but we don't want to maim your soul in the process. So, we just need to ask a unicorn very nicely to donate a little blood to the cause of sending a stray soul fragment on."

"And how do you propose you do that?" Severus asked.

"Simple," Oliver replied. "I just have to read my mind without controlling myself and go into a coma—I'll be so helpless, no unicorn could resist me."

There were some days that Severus wished he could just leave Oliver in St. Mungo's and never have to deal with him again. This was one of them.

* * *

George had sent Snape away—if he was going to find a unicorn, he'd have to go about it alone. George sent the young Weasley twins a message on the Saintlike Parchment warning them that he'd soon be taking possession of Young George again for an indeterminate length of time and went looking for signs of unicorn presence.

He found a long hair stuck to a tree branch, and a couple more several meters away. George followed the trail as far as he could and then laid down on the forest floor and cast Legilimens on himself. He then took a swig of pumpkin juice and went to the Burrow. Fortunately he and Fred were alone so they could speak freely.

"Morning, Fred," George said with a tip of an imaginary hat. "Since we aren't at school, what would you say about taking a crash course in professional pranking?"

"Does that question even deserve an answer?" Fred asked

"Yes," George said. "While teaching you Occlumency, I had set time restrictions. Now I have no idea how long I've got, but it might be a while, so I'm going to be a worse taskmaster than Snape. Are you ready for absolutely nothing but the art of pranking?"

Fred smiled wickedly. "Bring it on."

* * *

Fred was starting to regret letting Old George possess himself. Three days of nothing but Old George teaching him all of the techniques and products he'd developed over thirty years, all the while pulling pranks on him and probing Fred's Occlumency barriers whenever Old George thought he was slacking off...it was exhausting. He couldn't even sleep without worrying that something was going to happen to him. He was just glad that Old George hadn't tried anything like this when Fred didn't trust him, or he probably would have gone insane.

The one good thing (well, it wasn't really the only good thing, but it was Fred's favorite part) about Old George's Pransker Crash Course was that the overarching prank that was being pulled on the family. The first day, Old George made Fred forge a note from the ghoul in the attic that said it wanted some pajamas and wouldn't stop harassing everyone until it got some. Everyone was absolutely convinced that the twins were up to something at first, but when things started happening that should have been beyond their two years of education, like when the garden turned into a swamp or the house flooded and everyone inside was transfigured into mermaids, they started to wonder.

Mum had just pulled out a pair of Dad's old pajamas and was carrying them up to the attic when Old George suddenly turned to Fred and said, "I think I see a unicorn. G'bye, Fred."

"Liar," Fred accused. Old George had done something similar the first day, and Fred _still_ didn't know how that ended up with him on the roof in just his underwear.

"Not this time," Old George said. "Get Young George up to speed. Or don't, if you want to mess with him a bit."

Fred smiled at the thought and took a chug of pumpkin juice. Apparently Old George had swapped it with some rancid stuff and he spat it out, but he had still swallowed enough of it to work and his George was back.

"So? What did I miss?" George asked.

"There, ghoul! I gave you some pajamas!" Mum yelled loud enough to be heard in the twins' room. "Now stop wreaking havoc on my house!"

"Oh, you know. Nothing special."

* * *

George felt the touch of a unicorn on his face. He forced himself to continue breathing like someone in a coma and, when the unicorn did not react, he opened his eyes all the way. The unicorn was only a baby, the color of gold and a stub of a horn coming out of its head.

"Hello there," he whispered. The unicorn tensed and started to flee. "Sh, it's alright. I don't want to hurt you. I need your help."

The baby unicorn stopped backing away, but it did not come closer either.

George continued to speak quietly, letting a bit of desperation squeak out of his throat. "There is a man, a very broken man who has hurt his soul without realizing how horrible an idea it was. He is little more than a ghost and he will be trapped in this world until he can return to a body and die as a simple human being. He will kill one or more of your kind to get himself out of his wretched state, but it will not be necessary if you allow me to draw a small portion of your blood. Will you help me help bring balance to the world without such horrid bloodshed?"

The unicorn stood still a long moment, then fled. George sighed. It was worth a try. He sent his Patronus to Dumbledore explaining the failure and went to find Snape.

After about half an hour stomping through the forest without finding his old Potions Master, George finally noticed shining silvery-white through the trees by the shadow of a man. _Why did Snape summon his Patronus?_ George wondered as he got closer. Then he saw the horn and realized what he thought was a doe was actually a full-grown unicorn. Snape used a syringe to extract the blood without so much as noticing George. George saw the golden unicorn hiding behind a tree watching.

"Thank you," he whispered. The baby bowed in reply.

Just as Snape finished, the adult and infant unicorns ran off into the forest together, gone as fast as they had arrived.

"So, they trusted you and not me?" George asked as he went up to Snape.

"You lack something, apparently, that the unicorn recognizes," Snape replied.

"What? Purity of heart? Loneliness? Because you were without Lily not nearly as long as I was without Fred. Besides, I'm the _Saintlike_ One, for Merlin's sake!"

"She likely trusts my hands to draw her blood without injury coming to herself more than she trusts you," Snape suggested.

"That's...actually not a bad idea," George conceded. "Do you need anything else for Mr. Chief Death Eater?"

"I haven't seen the Dark Lord since he sent me on the unicorn hunt," Snape said. "And I was doing just fine before then."

"Well, if you ever need me, I'll be northwest of Camp Voldy," George said.

Snape grunted in reply. Well, it was better than sneering, at least.

* * *

Severus brought the unicorn blood to Voldemort and began brewing a potion for the Dark Lord. He milked Nagini for her venom and she almost bit him in the process. He wondered what was making the snake wary of him, but decided to not comment and just focused on making the potion as it needed to be.

"Did you have difficulty with the task assigned you?" Voldemort asked after Severus administered the potion to him.

"Some," Severus said, "but I overcame it. Unfortunately the unicorn blood yield was not as great as I anticipated, so we must be judicious with it until I acquire more."

"Nagini says you smell of another wizard," Voldemort noted.

Severus cursed mentally, but he was not a master Occlumens for nothing. "I did have an encounter," he allowed.

"Do you think the wizard will be helpful to our cause or a hindrance?"

"I cannot say with certainty, but I think he may be _persuaded_ to serve you," Severus said. _Oliver always wanted to help, and now he can just do so more than he expected._ "Shall I search for him, my Lord?"

"Yes. And take Nagini with you."

Severus didn't like that much either, but he knew better than to protest. "Yes, my lord."

* * *

George probably should have been setting up an Extendable Ear so he could listen in on all of the conversations between Voldemort and Snape, but he wanted to make sure the unicorn was okay—unicorn blood donation was completely unheard of and if they suffered any ill effects, George wanted to know so that he would be able to prevent it happening in the future. Of course, he probably wouldn't be able to find any unicorn ever again, but he wanted to put forth the effort at least. If they saw him, maybe they would understand.

There was rustling on the ground behind him. Snape. George was about to give him a greeting regarding how he was a little busy at the moment, but the former Death Eater had a death glare and pointed his wand directly at George.

"What did—"

Snape cut him off. "If you value your life you will be silent and come with me."

George nodded and the two went through the woods, Snape never lowering his wand. They were headed towards Voldemort's base camp.

_What is Snape trying to do? He knows that I have no intention of meeting Voldemort. If I ever wanted to meet him, it'd be when Harry defeats him again._

They stopped at the camp and Snape forced George to his knees in front of Lord Voldemort.

"My lord, this is the wizard I found prowling through the forest today," Snape said.

George felt something brush against his leg. He looked down to see Nagini slither past him and to Voldemort. _She saw me with Snape_, George realized. _Or smelled me. Either way, Snape probably had no choice but to bring me here. And now I have to convince Voldemort to spare my life. Great._

"Do you know who I am?" Voldemort asked George.

"You're the Dark Lord," George said with a mixture of conviction and fear. He had no idea what he was going to do to get out of this, but that reaction seemed neutral enough to build on. "They said you were dead. I guess they were wrong."

"Yes, I am well aware of that," Voldemort snapped. "What I don't know is who you are and why you are in these woods."

"I'm James Oliver. I..." George scrambled his brain for something to say.

"Do not try the Dark Lord's patience," Snape warned.

"Something happened to my mind," George blurted out. "I've lost a lot of memories and have others that I know I shouldn't have. It's not natural. I think..." And a flash of inspiration struck. "I think the Ministry did this to me: played with my head. And I want to make them suffer for it."

Voldemort's wraithish form had something like a smile cross it. "I think we can help one another. Given your...condition, you may not recall it, but I was once quite feared by the Ministry."

"I remember very little of those years," George admitted truthfully—technically, he remembered hardly anything at all about the years Voldemort was talking about, "but I definitely remember the fear of you. I had hoped you survived somehow and that you could bring the Ministry down, so I started searching for you. And I brought you a gift," George said as he searched his pocket and pulled out the yew wand.

"I normally find the offering of gifts pathetic, but I will make an exception in this case," Voldemort said. "How did you come by my wand?"

George shrugged. "I took it off of someone else who died before I could make him tell me where he got it from. I don't know who he was, but I think he was a hermit or outcast of some sort."

"And how did you know to bring it to me here?" Voldemort asked.

"I don't know," George lied. "Whatever is in my head now has very good instincts sometimes. I think the Ministry may have tried to turn me into an artificial seer, but it backfired. It is currently taking me a lot of willpower just to remain sane. More or less."

"And what does the Ministry think of you now?" Snape asked.

"The ones who think they're in control acquitted me just a little while ago," George explained. "Long story. But the ones who know what I am are keeping quiet and probably think that I just needed time to become their weapon or tool or whatever they want from me. They're attempting to show patience and I want to stuff that pretense down their slimy little throats. The worst part is I don't know who exactly those people are, so I intend to dismantle the Ministry piece by piece until there's no doubt they've had their compensation for murdering my mind alive."

"And how would Albus Dumbledore fit in all of this?" Voldemort asked.

"He could be in on it, for all I know," George replied. "Regardless of whether he does or not, I don't think that he sees me as a threat—more a curiosity than anything, I'd bet."

Voldemort's cruel smile only grew. "Mr. Oliver, are you willing to accept me as your master?"

_NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!_ "Yes."

"Then we have much to discuss."

* * *

Fortunately, George was at least able to talk himself out of getting the Death Mark by calling it a tactical disadvantage—at least until Voldemort was revived, anyway. James Oliver's supposed loyalty to Voldemort, however, still needed to be established and Snape suggested an Unbreakable Vow.

"Is it even possible to make one of those to a wraith?" George asked.

"I supposed we will find out," Snape replied.

George extended his hand and Voldemort's form latched onto it. Snape pulled out his wand. "Will you, wizard who has seen fit to call yourself 'James Oliver,' assist the Dark Lord in whatever it takes for him to attain a complete body?"

"I will," George said. A flame emerged from Snape's wand and encircled his arm and where Voldemort attached to him.

"And will you, once the Dark Lord returns to that body, do everything within your power to enable him to successfully cast the Killing Curse on the Boy-Who-Lived?"

"I will." Another flame, though this one seemed slightly thinner than the last one. George supposed that it was because his and Snape's definition of success was different than Voldemort's.

"And will you never take up your wand against the Dark Lord?" Snape asked.

That vow had the possibility of being problematic, but George swore, "I will."

"Excellent," Voldemort said, once the binding was complete. "Now, if things are as they should be, there is a vacancy at Hogwarts."

"The Defence position?" George asked. "Isn't it jinxed?"

"Yes. I am the one who made it so," Voldemort said proudly. "Apply for the position, so as to give yourself an excuse to return to Hogwarts."

"Isn't Severus a better candidate for your spy?" George asked. "I mean, he's _already_ Dumbledore's Potions Master."

"Dumbledore is not the fool many believe him to be," Voldemort said. "He will watch Severus as closely as he always has. You, however, will only be expected to be there a year, which is usually too little a time to accomplish anything of import."

"Wouldn't it be easier to regain employment at the Hog's Head?" George asked. "It is near enough to Hogwarts, I should think."

"Do you honestly think Aberforth will ever trust you again?" Snape asked. "He's not exactly one to forget a grudge."

"Fair point," George conceded. _I suppose if anyone would know about Aberforth's grudges, it'd be Snape._ "I will do as the Dark Lord commands."

"I have more for you to do," Voldemort said. "You are to become the vessel by which I escape this forest and return to Hogwarts."

George's blood ran cold. "What do you mean by that?"

"I cannot leave without attaching myself to a magical source. Our minds and souls will become linked and I can hide myself under Dumbledore's nose. It is imperative that I kill Harry Potter as soon as my body is restored, and that process will be faster if I use you."

_He's making me Quirrell? This is very, very bad._ "Are you sure that you want your mind linked with mine, given its chaotic state?" George asked.

"If _you_ have the will to suppress it, it should be no great challenge for me," Voldemort replied. "You are being offered a great honor, so I suggest you accept it."

"Allow me to attempt to prepare myself for your arrival," George said finally. "I respect your abilities, but I would not dare ask you to do more work than you have to."

"Very well."

George sat down, closed his eyes, and took a swig of pumpkin juice from his hip flask, careful to not let it touch his enchanted tooth until he was in a position he would not move from, even when he went into a coma. He moved the juice to the back of his mouth and swallowed.

George barely registered being at the Burrow when he ran for the fireplace, only slowing to grab some Floo powder.

"Hogwarts Headmaster's office!" he cried. He entered Dumbledore's office and summoned the Sorting Hat.

Fred came through the fireplace behind him. "Old George, what's wrong?"

"I'm about to become Quirrell!" George replied as the Sorting Hat came into his hands. "Make sure everyone who knows about the time travel knows I might become compromised in the worst possible way. _No one_ can contact the Saintlike One in any way until Voldemort is gone for good. If Snape says I'm dead, go into hiding immediately. I love you, Fred."

He gave his twin one last hug, then placed the Sorting Hat on his head.

_Hat, I need to have as many irrelevant memories placed into my head as you can spare. Voldemort thinks I'm an artificial seer, and that's what I need to be right now._

_"I have never done such a thing,"_ the Sorting Hat said,_ "but I see that your need is great. I apologize for what you are likely to go through because of me. Schizophrenia is not a pleasant thing."_

Images and sounds and sensations all became shoved into George's consciousness. He fell to the floor in agony, but did not remove the hat.

"Headmaster, what is he doing?" he barely heard Fred ask as the series of memories began to accelerate. Dumbledore said something to Fred, but George couldn't process it anymore than he could process the Sorting Hat's centuries of knowledge. If he wasn't insane before, he would be now.

_"It is done,"_ the hat said finally. _"Now return to your body before you contaminate the mind of your younger self."_

"Fr-Fred," George stuttered, "pumpkin juice."

Fred complied.

George didn't allow himself to let on to Voldemort that he had just gone through an ordeal. Occlumency was truly becoming George's best friend, as it was likely to continue to be during the coming months. George tried to organize his mind, as he told Voldemort he would, but the task was impossible to accomplish. Finally, he said, "I don't think I can do much more of this. I apologize, my lord."

Voldemort's response was to attach himself to the back of George's head. George choked as his body instinctively tried to repel the horrible foreign soul fragment, but he held on. He was going to become a Horcrux if it was the last thing he did.

_"A Horcrux?"_ Voldemort asked as he read the thought slip through George's mind. _"How do you know about that magic?"_

"I-I have a _lot _of memories in my head," George replied as he tried to get a grip on himself. "There's probably some oth-other stuff in there too. It comes out in _very_ odd ways..."

_"You are a fascinating conundrum, James Oliver. As long as you keep your mind in check, we may accomplish much together."_

"This is really, really painful," George said, "so I'm going to do my best to not think while you decide what to do."

_"Draft a letter to Dumbledore first,"_ Voldemort ordered. _"You _must _be the one to take the Defence position."_

George winced, but nodded. "As you wish, my lord."


	22. Chapter 22

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, who isn't me. The only profit I get from this is personal satisfaction.

* * *

Squirreled Away

* * *

_Dear Headmaster Albus Dumbledore,_

_You may recall a conversation a couple years ago between us where I said I'd never so much as consider Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. I now have to eat those words, as I am now applying for said position. Let's just say I made a bet and was really unlucky. As you may have heard, I am unable to provide authentic records of my existence, but I hope you recall what my previous employer has said about me in that I am qualified in the subject. I do not pretend to have any sort of teaching ability, but I assume that I will be able to acquire the skill in time._

_Please reply by owl and inform me of your decision._

_Cordially,_

_James Oliver_

* * *

Hours after the merge between George and Voldemort, the latter's consciousness became dormant and George felt like he could breathe again. There was absolutely no way that he was going to make contact with the others through pumpkin juice or any other means as long as Voldemort was a part of him. He sincerely hoped that Dumbledore would be able to enact the plan without George's input, especially with the changes that would be put into place now that Snape wasn't the one who would have to manipulate Voldemort.

George had made a compartment in his mind and placed all the Things Tom Riddle Should Never Ever Ever Know and solidified the Occlumency around it as strong as he could make it, and now he tried to make his stronghold stronger. Voldemort had noticed, of course, but he assumed it was an attempt to keep James Oliver sane. Hopefully the Dark Lord wouldn't try prod it himself.

George also tried to make sense out of his piles of extraneous memories, but it would very likely be an ongoing project, and one that he'd have to be careful to never get close to finishing, lest Voldemort become suspicious.

He uncovered a memory that he wished he hadn't found. A memory of war and screaming and guns and blood and bone and death. Nothing but death.

_"I suppose that is one of the memories you keep in your mental stronghold?" _Voldemort asked dryly as his consciousness emerged from its slumber.

"Ye-yes," George stuttered. "I will put it there immediately, my Lord."

_"Oh, there's no rush. I'd like to see the whole thing."_

"As you wish, my lord," George replied. The part of himself that remained in the stronghold was filled with dread. His true self would have to endure the horrid memories now.

* * *

George had a feeling that getting to know Harry as soon as possible would be a good idea. If Harry trusted him, then George could make sure that Harry stayed out of danger before Voldemort was ready to rise again. Voldemort seemed to like the idea of having the opportunity to size up his destined foe, so Snape and George, with Voldemort and Nagini in tow, returned to Britain once more. Snape left Team Voldemort temporarily under the pretense of telling Dumbledore his year off went well. Of course, Snape was _really_ going to tell Dumbledore just how badly George had ruined everything, but George kept such thoughts within his stronghold and focused on Harry Potter outside it.

George had a pretty good idea of when Harry would reenter the Wizarding World: his birthday. Of course, given that Sirius was able to be a godfather early that could change, but George figured that he might as well try. He waited a ways outside of the Leaky Cauldron so that Harry could go through everyone who wanted to meet a celebrity. As he waited, George gave Voldemort a reminder to use Occlumency, just in case the Boy-Who-Lived had more powers than they knew about.

Harry was looking around the alley in wonder when George approached Sirius. "Hello! You haven't met me, but I'm the one who let you know about Pettigrew surviving. James Oliver, pleasure to meet you finally," he said with a slight bow. He turned towards Harry and asked, "And is this your famous godson?"

"That's right," Sirius replied with a proud grin.

"Pleased to meet you," Harry said as he extended his hand.

"Actually, I've recently developed a paranoia of germs due to a transplant, so let me just wave hello instead," George said as did just that, making sure that he did not come anywhere near Harry's skin. "I'm actually going to be your professor, so we'll be seeing quite a bit of each other this year."

Sirius cocked his head. "Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"Is there ever _not_ a vacancy?" the George replied with a smile. "Well, I am sure you both have a busy day ahead of you, so I won't keep you any longer. Good day, Mr. Black, Mr. Potter."

George lingered in the alley a moment and watched Harry and Sirius head towards Gringotts before Apparating away.

_"Are you quite sure that you cannot touch him?"_ Voldemort asked.

"His Mum _died_ for him," George said. "There's no way you or any follower of yours going to be able to touch him unless they have his blood already running through their veins. Love. It's 'the power that the Dark Lord knows not.' I'm pretty sure I used to have something of the power before I lost my mind. And while we don't _know_ it per se, we certainly can know enough _about_ it to use it to our advantage."

_"How is it that you know the second part of the prophecy?"_ Voldemort asked.

In his stronghold, George wondered when _Snape_ had let Voldemort know about the full prophecy, before that self went back to isolating the dark memories there in an inner prison. "I told you before, my instincts are good. You being on the back of my head probably influences my subconscious."

_"Indeed. Tell me, which of my Death Eaters have truly forgotten me?"_

"Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Macnair, Yaxley, the Carrows, Avery, Nott, Karkaroff—and Pettigrew, obviously. Still loyal are the Lestranges, Dolohov, Rookwood, Mulciber, Travers, and Crouch, but they're all in Azkaban. I assume Black and Rosier would still be loyal if they were still alive."

_"Is this subconscious knowledge or your own?"_

"It's getting harder and harder to tell, but I think most of that was the seer in me," George said. "What's _definitely_ the seer in me is that you cannot rely on anyone but Snape until your rebirth. I suggest fulfilling the ritual with just him—and Potter, so you can take his blood and kill him immediately. Theatrics would be too risky and might allow the boy to do something heroic or get away. Once Potter is no more, we can break out the loyal from Azkaban and call all of your followers together somewhere and make an example of anyone who needs it. The hard part about this whole plan is doing anything under Dumbledore's nose, which I think would have been easier if we had stayed in Albania and let Snape be your only spy here."

_"Do you possess Severus' potion-making skills?"_

"I'm absolute rubbish," George replied. "I doubt I got even an Acceptable O.W.L. in whatever previous life I might have had."

_"Then it is better for Severus to make the potion that will allow me to grow a rudimentary body off of your own."  
_

"Does that mean I'm going to have more than your face attached to my head?" George asked.

_"I would have thought your seer abilities would have told you as much." _Voldemort said.

_A whole body, like what Pettigrew had during the resurrection ritual before?_ George wondered from inside his stronghold. _Did Voldemort having Nagini milk make that much of a difference? Was it just because Nagini was a Horcrux and he partook of the flesh of his soul or something bizarre like that? For that matter, is she even a Horcrux now?  
_

"As I've said before, my mind is really haphazard," George told Voldemort. "How long will I be hiding you under this turban, anyway? I assume less than a year, but..."

_"I will be reborn on Midsummer—the 20th of June, next year. Leaving your body before then will lessen the progress I can make, so we shall remain bonded until that time."_

Wormtail___ never had to be possessed by Voldemort. Why me... _"That's cutting it a little close to the end of the year, isn't it?" George asked out loud. "If the jinx on the position gets me before then..."

_"You _do_ realize that I can remove it, or did that not cross your mind?"_ Voldemort asked dryly.

"I wasn't sure how to ask, my lord. I am still becoming accustomed to your presence and I do not know my place, my lord. I apologize."

_"You may make requests of me. _I_ will decide whether they are worth granting. And I would prefer that you do not act as a sniveling doormat when you do so. My followers should be strong wizards who can strike fear into the hearts of those who dare oppose me. You are right to fear me, of course, but groveling is the sort of pathetic thing muggles do and I do not want to be reminded of muggles, James."_

"Understood, my lord."

* * *

George visited the Hog's Head the day before classes started.

"James, get out," Aberforth said.

"I just wanted to say I was sorry."

"You've said it. Now go."

George didn't leave. "The Healer said someone modified my memories sometime before we met. I don't know who I used to be, but I liked being James Oliver and I'm going to keep on being him. And if you happen to see Mundungus Fletcher, could you tell him the same?"

"No promises. Out."

George nodded and left the pub, returning directly to the castle.

_"Did that actually happen?" _Voldemort asked.

"It's what the Healer said happened to me when I finally got pardoned," George said. "Though I _might_ have Confunded her first. I couldn't let someone know that I'd broken through the fake identity on my own, of course."

_"Of course. Your mind is a delicate thing that guards dark secrets that even I do not know. Yet, at least."_

* * *

"Professor Oliver" called the third-year class to order and went over his expectations for the year. Lee didn't really pay much attention. It was almost too bizarre to act like the man in front of him was just another Defence professor. Back in July, Fred and George had sent Lee a letter telling him about what had happened, and the twins had explained it further what was happening on the train. It simply wasn't fair that Saint George had to take Quirrell's job—the job Snape was supposed to get.

The three boys knew they had to do _something_. They couldn't change Old George's situation, of course, but they could show that they still supported him. The twins decided to start a mission they entitled Operation Get Professor Oliver to Laugh. The Saint wouldn't have much reason to with Voldemort on the back of his head, so Fred, George, and Lee would make it a point to pull pranks on him as often as possible. As an added bonus, they could annoy Voldemort without him doing anything about it.

"So before we get started," Professor Oliver droned on, "any questions?"

Fred, George, and Lee all put their hands up.

"Yes? First Mr. George Weasley, then Mr. Fred Weasley, and last Mr. Jordan?"

"What..." George said.

"In the name of sanity..." Fred continued.

"Have you got on your head?" Lee finished.

They probably could have asked Saint George about all sorts of things, like his bright magenta robes or his new obsession with cleanliness, but the pranksters figured that referencing the existence of his ginger-colored turban would be a good way to make Voldemort nervous.

"It's a turban," Professor Oliver said flatly. "I wear a turban now. Turbans are cool."

The three pranksters exchanged glances before "attempting" to steal the turban and kill it. Saint George put up a shield and deflected their spells for a couple minutes.

When they finally stopped, the Defence professor said quietly, "My turban. Is cool. Now, if we are finished with that, let's start talking about boggarts..."

"Strike one," Fred muttered under his breath. "Don't worry, we'll get him next time."

* * *

Fred didn't know why "Professor Oliver" seemed to go out of his way to make Defence Against the Dark Arts boring. The class sessions themselves weren't too bad—they got to practice a lot more magic compared to what their previous professors made them do—but Old George was making everyone write at least 24 inches of parchment every single day, usually about whatever they were supposed to be reading. George at any age would _never_ give himself reasons to read so much boring stuff. So why was he doing it? Was he even reading them at all?

Fred decided to test it. He crafted an essay that was guaranteed to earn a zero in most classes, getting facts wrong, going off on things completely irrelevant, and even making the stupidest of spelling errors, which included his name. It was the most beautiful and hideous thing he'd ever written and he wanted to frame it after he was done. Fred convinced George and Lee to do the same and they all turned in their awful masterpieces together.

A week later, they got the essays back. Perfect scores were on George's and Lee's, but Fred had been given the zero he deserved. Fred, in confusion, looked over the parchment and noticed that Professor Oliver had written something in the margins.

_Please look over your previous work. You can do better than this._

Fred grimaced, but when he was back in his room, he looked at the pile of old essays he'd gotten back and had never looked at again. On these, Old George's comments were _much_ more interesting.

_If you have anything private you want to tell me, mention it in an essay. I do not prefer talking one-on-one.  
_

_Grading papers is incredibly boring. Tom thinks I should stop, but I lied and said it was relaxing.  
_

_Tell D that Tom wants to come back at Midsummer._

_Tom hates what you're doing to him. Please continue._

_Be friends with Harry. Trust is a good thing._

_Tom knows that I know about 'cruxes and what the Div prof said about him. He also thinks I'm a better seer than her, if more insane.  
_

_I left a blood ward on my robe pocket and expanded it some time ago. Access is restricted to emergencies only._

_Now_ things made sense. Old George was making all of his students give him dry reading material just so that Voldemort wouldn't pay attention when he kept Fred updated on what was happening. And now that Fred understood what was going on, he could do it too. He grabbed a quill and started writing his next essay.

_Grindylows are water demons that pretty girls can't get past. You, good saint, are _dedicated_ to read through all of this, and I salute you. Tom is a git, and you'd better get back at him when we aren't. Grindylows are also very strong, but have brittle fingers..._

* * *

Harry was walking down the hallway when Ron's twin brothers came up from behind and started talking to him.

"Hey, Harry, we heard you made the Gryffindor Quidditch team!"

"Seeker first year, it's been what, a century since that happened?"

"That's what Wood said," Harry shrugged.

"George and me are Beaters, but be careful of George: he has to fly on the Slytherin team."

"Yet, for some reason, I always seem to get sick when there's a match between Slytherin and Gryffindor," George said.

"And, by some coincidence, I undergo Spontaneous Duplication on the same day," Fred said. "And since two of me is better than me and the other beater, Duplicate Fred and I usually decide to play together."

"And how many times has this happened?" Harry asked.

"Well, we only started playing Quidditch on the teams last year so only once," George said, "but we've got a feeling that it'll be happening every Slytherin-Gryffindor match."

"Does anyone really believe that story?" Harry asked.

"Harry, I'm appalled!" George said dramatically. "You suggest that we are anything but completely truthful?"

"How dare you appall my dear brother!" Fred said with equal melodrama. "He is the most truthful of truthful human beings on the planet! Like when Professor Oliver had Spongify cast on his boots so that he'd have to leap everywhere or when he got boils in unpleasant places, why it was _certainly_ not us!"

"Hey, I thought we were keeping that one a secret!" George complained.

"We are," Fred said. "Because we didn't do it, right Harry?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Harry replied.

Both twins grinned. "That's the spirit!"

* * *

Lee went to the Halloween Feast wondering what Fred and George were up to. They were planning a prank of some sort, but they'd decided to only tell Lee to make sure people didn't take them seriously after the fact. Whatever that was.

He almost forgot about it entirely, as he and everyone else was well into the food when the doors slammed open to reveal Fred and George, back to back, both wearing the same large robe and a purple cloth wrapped around their heads.

"TROLL!" George cried out.

"IN THE DUNGEONS!" Fred added, just as loud.

"TROLL IN THE DUNGEONS!" they cried together.

They stood still a moment. "Thought you ought to know," George said as both twins proceeded to faint dramatically.

A roar of laughter came from the teacher's table. "Professor Oliver" was bent over the table, apparently trying to stop laughing with very little success.

Lee scowled to himself._ So much for _me_ making sure no one took them seriously..._

* * *

_"What possessed you to laugh at the feast?"_ Voldemort asked when he and George were alone.

George had made a point of only communicating with Voldemort out loud, claiming a lack of Legilimency ability combined with his unconscious habit of ignoring any foreign thing in his mind. Voldemort could still look at George's mind (excepting the stronghold, of course), but if he wanted George to listen to him, he would have to be audible. Voldemort found it incredibly annoying, which made George in the stronghold glad and Oliver outside the stronghold apologetic.

"Apparently I have subconscious memories of whatever those boys were making an homage to," George explained. "It triggered a laughter reflex. I will control myself better in the future. In all honesty, it is relieving that the Weasley twins _weren't_ targeting me directly for once."

_"Do you know why they do it?"_

"Back when I worked at the Hog's Head, they snuck out and I had a conversation with them. I think whatever impression I left made them think it hilarious to mess with me."

_"You should put them in their place."_

"James Oliver wouldn't do that. I know it's just a made-up identity, but I have to adhere to it, lest Dumbledore suspect that I've discovered that my implanted identity is false, or even he might just get curious enough to find the reason behind my new turban."

_"Your 'James Oliver' is a boring, spineless man," _Voldemort said.

"That's not my fault," George defended. He paused a moment. "You're bored, aren't you, my lord?"

_"Of course I am bored! You do hardly anything but grade essays!"_

"I thought you _wanted_ to be a Defence professor," George noted.

_"I would not be a professor by forcing imbeciles to regurgitate the textbooks of fools! I would teach them the intricacies of the Dark Arts, show them the power it can bring!"_

"Do you want me to start a Dueling Club, then?"

Voldemort hesitated._ "I think not. I want to be sure that they fight _for_ me before giving them the ability to fight back. What your James Oliver thinks is necessary to teach them during class is bad enough."_

"Well reasoned, my lord," George noted. "I will consider other options to make Hogwarts more interesting for you."

Right then, a dark memory surfaced and George immediately shoved it into his stronghold.

_"I thought that one might have been fascinating," _Voldemort said.

"Too late," George replied. "Stuff goes into the stronghold and it doesn't come out. Opening the stronghold would make me useless to you, and since we still have several months ahead of us, I'm sure you don't want to do that, my lord."

Of course, he would have to try and reign in the dark memory before it started turning the contents of his stronghold to shreds. Inevitably _something _of his true self was always damaged in the process, but hopefully George wouldn't be damaged too badly by the time Voldemort severed the connection between them in June.

"On an unrelated note," George said, "have you thought of a way to take Harry Potter to wherever it is that you'll be reborn?"

_"That plan must not be made frivolously."_

"Of course not," George said. "I've just got a feeling that Potter has a strong 'saving people' drive. If he believes that someone is in danger, he will try to help them."

George felt Voldemort smile on the back of his head, which was not something he thought he'd ever get used to._ "But who to use as bait..."_

"We can figure that one out later. 'Who' probably won't matter anyway. It's how to get him alone that will be tricky. No Apparating in Hogwarts, Dumbledore and the Ministry will know the instant that a Portkey is made, brooms are too slow, Floo can be unreliable... Honestly, it'd be easier to just do the ritual here."

_"That is an option,"_ Voldemort noted.

_It is? _George wondered. _I thought it had to be done at the graveyard? Or did Voldemort want to desecrate his father's grave right then and there in case someone was monitoring activity there?_ "But where? We can't exactly hide a dark ritual in a classroom... _oh_. You can use the Chamber of Secrets."

_"But how do you suggest that I find the Chamber of Secrets? Does your subconscious know where it is?"_ Voldemort asked innocently.

"You're telling me that you _aren't_ the Heir of Slytherin?" George asked. "Huh, I guess my subconscious was wrong for once."

_"No, you are correct, James. But I intended the Chamber to open at a later date."_

"Yeah, about that," George said as he instinctively scratched the back of his head and ended up running into the turban. "I think Lucius Malfoy misplaced your Horcrux."

Voldemort burned with a fury that caused George physical pain. _"He _will_ pay for his negligence."_

"Patience, my lord. I cannot see where the Horcrux is now, but you are still the heir. You still have the power to open the Chamber."

_"That is true. Do you foresee anything regarding whether unleashing my monster will be a hindrance?"_

"Nothing yet," George said, "but if I get any inkling, you'll be the first to know, my lord. At the very least, you are not likely to be bored anymore."

* * *

_The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir, beware._

Mrs. Norris was petrified just outside of the bathroom where the last victim of Slytherin's monster had died.

* * *

"It's Malfoy!" George insisted at the next teacher's meeting.

"You have no reason to suspect him," McGonagall said shortly.

"I don't? Last time the Chamber was open, Abraxas Malfoy was at the school. There's hardly anyone in that family who _wasn't_ a Slytherin! Of _course_ he was the Heir of Slytherin then, and Draco is it now!"

"Then why is this only the second time that the Chamber of Secrets has opened in centuries?" McGonagall asked. "I have no doubt Lucius would have done so if he had the ability."

"Maybe it was forgotten for a while?" George suggested. "Maybe Slytherin thought the proper qualities for an heir skip every generation? Or maybe it _was_ opened and no one found out? I don't know, but Draco should be the prime suspect at the very least!"

"Voldemort was also attending Hogwarts when the Chamber opened last," Dumbledore noted. "He seems a far more likely suspect, I think."

"Well You-Know-Who is _gone_, thank Merlin!" George said. He was having far too much fun with this. "And if he or any of his servants were behind it, they wouldn't care about keeping their victims alive. Mrs. Norris, Ms. Granger, and Mr. Thomas should all be dead like Moaning Myrtle. But Malfoy is only a boy. He can't really kill someone when it comes down to it, but he can punish those of us with 'unclean' blood to make himself feel more powerful."

"You make too many assumptions," Professor Vector said. "Some of that could have been mere chance."

"Sure, _lots_ of things can be chance, but I'm not taking chances with my life or the lives of our students," George said. He met eyes with Dumbledore. "Stop him and stop him now."

"You said it yourself: the heir has not killed anyone," Dumbledore said. "We will find out his identity in due time, and harassing Mr. Malfoy will not improve matters. James, you must let this go."

George muttered something incoherent under his breath. In his mind, he thought loudly, _My lord, if you are listening in on my thoughts, I apologize for my disrespect for you there. Hopefully Dumbledore and the other teachers will be distracted from you now. At the very least, they have been subtly reminded that "James Oliver" is supposed to be a mudblood and would thus have nothing to do with you._

"Now that that's that," Dumbledore said, "James, I believe you suggested starting a permanent Dueling Club. Given the situation, now may be a good time for that."

"When did I suggest that?" George asked.

"Don't you remember? While you were working in the Hog's Head, you mentioned it."

"Ah...I'd forgotten. Yes, a Dueling Club is a fine idea, but I'm afraid the work I do now already keeps me very busy."

"I'm sure Filius and Severus wouldn't mind helping you," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye.

_My lord, I'm sorry, but he is backing me into a corner._ "Alright. Perhaps we will start with a Disarming Charm, so that the younger students don't have to feel left out." _That's the best spell I can think of that is more or less useless while still sounding useful._

"Splendid! Now, as I am sure we're all aware..."

* * *

The Dueling Club was very similar to the one when Lockhart was teaching, except George was a teacher and Flitwick was helping this time. And Lockhart wasn't acting like a pompous git. And, George thought, there seemed to be fewer giggling girls, probably because the pompous git wasn't there to lure them in this time.

"Welcome to the Dueling Club!" George said. "If all goes as it should, we will be meeting here every other Saturday at this time. Dueling can be a useful skill, depending on your vocation or if you merely have a tendency to get into a spot of trouble. That said, I do not want anyone here dueling outside of teacher supervision. No midnight duels in the trophy room or any of that sort of thing, or you will receive detention and be banned from coming back here. If you have a score to settle with someone, you will do it here and you will do it honorably.

"Today, we will be covering the Disarming Charm. I've asked Professor Snape to help me demonstrate the effects of the spell to you."

George and Snape took the stage, bowed to one another, then moved to their starting positions.

"Professor Flitwick, if you would give us a count?" George asked.

"One, two, three."

"Expelliarmus!" Snape cried.

George was thrown back and the brunt of the force was applied to the back of his head where Voldemort was, which made him in his stronghold pleased.

"Thank you, Professor Snape!" George said as he summoned his wand back to him. "Now, if that had been a real duel, there would have been two basic ways I could have prevented that. The first is the Shield Charm, which I will try to cover in the future. The second, which I will assume that most of you are already capable of, is simple dodging. For now, I would like you all to pair up and allow your partner to disarm you, so that you may know what it feels like. And please return your wands to their rightful owners when you are done. In a real world setting, defeating someone else may change wand ownership, but since we are practicing, those wands know better! Now off you go, and I will be watching. I've got eyes in the back of my turban."

George moved about the room and corrected the form of several of his students. Harry, of course, needed no correcting.

"Harry, Harry, Harry," he said.

Harry flinched. "Yes, Professor?"

"Do you find it annoying when I do that?" George asked. "Because you should. That was an imitation of one of my least favorite people. He would have said that to you just now, because he might have noticed that you were doing well and he would have had no idea why you knew more magic than he did. Sorry, that was quite a tangent wasn't it? I just wanted to say, good work, Harry."

"Thank you, Professor."

"Did you have any questions for me while you still have my attention?"

Harry rubbed his arm. "Just...why did you let Snape disarm you and not do it to him? I thought you hated each other."

"Hate?" George asked. "That's a strong word. But, yes, I suppose Professor Snape doesn't particularly like me for some reason, and since it does me no lasting harm to let him get a blow here and there, I'd rather he take out his misplaced angst on me than on the students. Though, as I understand it, he doesn't seem to like you much either?"

Harry grimaced. "No, not really."

George sighed. "There are different kinds of bullies in this world. There are those who try to see how long it will take to make you fight back. There are those who just want to see you suffer. And there are those who just can't control themselves. There are more than those categories, of course, and I haven't figured out what is the best method of dealing with Professor Snape yet, but I'm inclined towards patience with him. Now, I was about to go observe the other students, but when I am done, would you mind doing a demonstration for the group?"

"Sure, I guess..."

"Brilliant! Thank you, Mr. Potter."

* * *

The aftermath of the Dueling Club wasn't pretty for George and Snape. They were down in the Chamber of Secrets, where Snape administered more potion to Voldemort.

_"Do you know what you could have done? My body is as frail enough as it is, let alone when you smashed me on the floor!"_

"I apologize, my lord," Snape said.

_"James, give me my wand."_

George stuck his hand inside his robe pocket and pulled out Voldemort's wand. He then removed the turban from his head, which had an Undetectable Extension Charm on it to allow Voldemort to grow beyond the turban's size. Voldemort had grown enough of a hand to hold his wand, which George handed to him.

_"Crucio," _Voldemort said.

Snape doubled over in pain. He didn't scream, but it was obvious that he didn't want it to continue

"I apologize, my lord," Snape said when the curse ended. "I was thinking only of the face I show to the school. No one can suspect Oliver and I are working together."

_"You can do that in other ways, which I will expect from you from now on. And James, do not think you are exempt either. You did not tell me the boy was a Parselmouth." _Voldemort shot the Cruciatus Curse at George.

His body was filled with the sharpest pain and he didn't hold his screaming in like Snape did. He fell to the ground, careful to go forwards instead of smashing Voldemort again. Only a masochistic idiot would try that. Well, George _was_ a masochistic idiot, he supposed, but James Oliver wasn't supposed to be so he refrained. Fortunately, the pain seemed to be bleeding over into Voldemort's body and so it didn't last for too long.

"I don't know everything," George squeaked out when he could finally talk. "I thought I would direct Potter's focus at Malfoy. How was I to know that Draco would conjure a snake and that Harry would talk to it? Just be glad that the Weasley twins happened to make a ruckus at that moment and prevented Potter's abilities from becoming known except to those paying close attention."

_"But why can the boy speak the language of serpents in the first place?"_

"He survived your Killing Curse and has a one-of-a-kind scar," George said. "For all we know, his scar is a psychic who encourages Harry to make bets on Quidditch matches! Can you not see that this makes your plans easier? He can access the Chamber of Secrets, he might think he is _destined_ to do so. Just be grateful that we petrified the Granger girl before she talked sense into him!"

_"And I am grateful for your insights, James. But we both know that you can do better and you deserve punishment when you fail me."_

"I won't fail you, my lord. Never again."


	23. Chapter 23

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, who isn't me. The only profit I get from this is personal satisfaction.

* * *

Snake Oil

* * *

It was June 20th. Midsummer. Time to resurrect Voldemort.

Voldemort had constructed a simple plan for the day: get Potter out of the way, lure Dumbledore to the Chamber of Secrets, kill Dumbledore, lure Potter down to the Chamber, take his blood, resurrect himself, and kill Potter. And since George had no choice, he had to follow orders and help.

George approached Harry, who was talking with Ron while they ate breakfast. "Mr. Potter, may I speak with you a moment?"

"Alright, Professor."

They left the Great Hall and George cast a listening ward. "How has your scar been treating you?" George asked. "Does it hurt?"

"How do you know about that?" Harry asked.

"I pick up on these sorts of things. Did it start sometime around when the Chamber of Secrets opened? Maybe a little before, when the Heir of Slytherin was still preparing?"

Harry looked away uneasily. "Yeah, it did."

"I believe that scar of yours is particularly sensitive to Dark magic," George said. "And am I right in suspecting that it's hurting more today than it has in a long time, if ever?"

"It is, Professor," Harry admitted.

"It is as I feared," George breathed. "The Heir of Slytherin is on the move, and planning something big. Harry, I think you may be the monster's next victim, and that it won't be mere petrification this time. It wants to kill. I beg you to go into hiding until night falls. I'm working on a plan that might get rid of it once and for all, but I do not want to risk your safety in the process. If I fail, if I do not come back for you, then the Heir will have realized I've tricked him and then I believe that you will be our only hope."

"Me?" Harry asked. "I'm only a first-year."

"You are a very extraordinary first-year and you are destined for greatness," George said. "And I think you may be the only one besides the heir who may be able to control the monster. You've heard it speak, haven't you? That's because it is a snake. It's kind of obvious when you think about it. And I think I've finally figured out where it is. One Corvinus Gaunt, a member of a family proud of their Parselmouth abilities, is recorded to have been a little obsessed with a particular girl's bathroom when they were installing the plumbing. And it so happens that that girl's bathroom is right next to the writing on the wall. I'm almost positive that the entrance is around there somewhere."

"You want _me_ to open it for you?"

"Haven't you been listening to me? I only want you safe and able to bring help if I fail. Ask those Weasley twins to help you find a place to hide out. I don't know how, but they know this castle better than most of my seventh-years. And have them pretend that they haven't seen you if anyone asks. I want people to know you're 'missing' so the Heir is lured into my trap."

"And you should have caught him by tonight?" Harry asked.

"Hopefully, yes, but you are the back-up plan if that fails. Good luck, Mr. Potter."

"Good luck, Professor."

Step one complete.

* * *

"Headmaster," George said, "I fear something terrible has happened. Harry Potter has gone missing."

"Missing?" Dumbledore asked. "When was this?"

"I don't know. I talked to him about an essay he wrote around breakfast time this morning and he hasn't shown up for any of his classes since and no one knows where he is. I think the Heir of Slytherin might have taken him. Not even the ghosts can find him."

"Keep the search going."

"Albus," George whispered, "I think I might have figured out where the Chamber is." He told the same story about Gaunt that he told Harry. "Do you think I'm right?"

"It is possible," Dumbledore allowed. "Go there and I will meet you as soon as I can."

George waited impatiently at the bathroom, but the Headmaster soon arrived.

"Am I right in assuming that you've learned Parseltongue over the years?" George asked. "I mean, you know Gobbledegook, Mermish, and who knows what else."

"I've picked up a little," Dumbledore admitted with a twinkle in his eye. "Have you found any good starting places?"

"There's a snake over by the sink that's broken," George advised. "Try talking to that."

Dumbledore made a hissing noise and an entrance appeared. "After me, I think," Dumbledore said as he jumped into the pit. George jumped after him.

"Have you figured out what the monster was yet?" George asked.

"I have some theories. I haven't decided which is most likely yet, but I suppose we'll find out. Stay behind me." Dumbledore cast a silent Lumos Charm as they went farther into the Chamber.

They went through another door opened by Parseltongue to a large room with a statue of Slytherin being the dominating feature. A large cauldron was in directly in front of the statue, just waiting to be used.

"We are in the Chamber of Secrets," Dumbledore breathed.

George nodded. "Yes, we are. Expelliarmus. Petrificus Totalus."

From under the turban, a hiss called out to the farthest reaches of the Hogwarts pipe system.

"Oh, how the mighty Dumbledore has fallen," George taunted. "Two spells that a first-year could do. And soon, you'll go the same way as Moaning Myrtle. Do you want to be a ghost too? Are you afraid of death? I guess you can't really answer me like that, but don't worry. My master's basilisk will take one look at you and you'll be gone forever."

The basilisk slithered into the Chamber and Dumbledore was forced to look directly into the yellow eyes. At the very moment he did so, his cloak flew open and a rooster that had been hidden inside it crowed. The basilisk died instantly.

_"What was that?"_ Voldemort hissed.

"I swear I don't know, my lord."

_"Have you been in league with Dumbledore? People do not keep roosters in their cloaks unless they know what they're facing!"_

"He guessed!" George insisted. "His guesses are generally good! He must have charmed his robes to stay closed and the charm ended after he died, letting the bird lose. The preparation of a genius, nothing more!"

_"I am not sure if I can take your word for that. You may be hiding many things in your mind from me."_

And Voldemort began attacking the stronghold with a vengeance.

_He's going to get in. And he'll find out. _

George wanted to just drink pumpkin juice and take his mind far away, where Voldemort couldn't touch it. But that would call everything George had led Voldemort to do into doubt. Voldemort _had_ to trust James Oliver until the very end.

And so George, inside his stronghold, allowed the dark memories he'd kept locked away to roam free and tear almost every incriminating memory to shreds except for a couple incomplete ones that would guide whatever George would become into completing his mission. He had to do it or everything he'd done since he came to the timeline would be in vain.

_Oh, Fred, please forgive me._

* * *

After Harry emerged from hiding, the twins grabbed him and showed him the writing on the wall.

_His skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever.  
_

"Professor Oliver," Harry breathed.

Harry dashed into the bathroom, Fred and George following close behind, and found a snake on one of the sinks. He spoke to it in Parseltongue and an entrance opened.

"Harry," Fred said, "I'm pretty sure I know who's been causing this. And you're wrong: it isn't Snape or Malfoy or anyone like that."

"Or if it is, they aren't working alone," George added. "Voldemort is behind it all."

"I know," Harry said. "That's why I've got to stop him."

"It's just...I don't think you can survive this," Fred said. "We've done some research. We think that you're a Parselmouth because Voldemort is one. And when he tried to kill you as a baby, part of his soul latched onto you. So he can't die as long as you're alive. You have to let him kill you."

"When were you going to tell me this?" Harry asked.

"We didn't want you worrying about dying all the time," George said. "And since we all know what Voldemort is going to try down there, now is when you decide if you're going to face him once and for all or run and never look back. If there was anything we could do to stop it, we would have done it by now. I'm sorry, Harry."

"We're _both_ so sorry," Fred corrected his twin.

"Have you told Ron?" Harry asked.

"Not yet," Fred said. "As soon as you go down there, we're going to go get all the help we can. But it's only when the piece of Voldemort in you that's gone that he can finally die."

"I understand," Harry said. "Thank you, for being my family for the last year. And tell Ron that I'm sorry I left without saying goodbye."

"Of course we will. And we're going to make sure our sister never finds anyone else so you two can get married in the after-life," George said. "Then you'll be a Weasley for real."

"I'm...not really sure what to say to that," Harry said.

"Don't say anything," Fred said. "Just smile. I want to remember you just smiling."

Harry tried to smile but he couldn't keep it for very long.

Fred pulled Harry in close and whispered in his ear, "before you go down there, steal George's wand and don't give it back. Don't ask me why, just do it."

Harry frowned, but he pointed his wand at George and said, "Expelliarmus." The force knocked George against the nearest wall and he fell unconscious.

"You didn't have to do it so hard," Fred complained.

"Sorry."

"No, it's okay. He'll wake up in a minute or so," Fred said as he searched for the wand. "Here. Keep George's wand with you. It's technically yours now. I wish I could tell you more, but I can't. Go, Harry. Save us all."

Harry nodded went down into the Chamber of Secrets.

* * *

Severus Snape returned from the graveyard at Little Hangleton with the bone of Tom Riddle Sr. He went to the bathroom that was the entrance to the Chamber and ran into Fred and George Weasley.

"You're late," one of them said. "Harry just went down there."

"I suppose Oliver will keep him busy, then," Severus replied as he descended into the Chamber.

He heard voices down the corridor.

"Dumbledore!" Potter cried out. "No!"

Severus grimaced. He knew Albus was intent on sacrificing himself. He probably didn't have more than a couple weeks anyway and looking into the basilisk's eyes would be quick and painless. At least Severus didn't have to kill him in this timeline.

Maniacal laughter echoed on the walls. It sounded like Oliver.

Potter screamed something Severus couldn't understand. The traitor Death Eater picked up the pace.

"Yes, you trusted me! A word of advice: _never_ trust the Defence professor! Of course, you won't be needing that advice anymore!" Oliver laughed again.

_Why does he have to over-sell it so much? _Severus wondered to himself as he entered the main chamber.

"Snape?" Potter cried out when he saw him. "You've got to help me!"

"Do I?" Severus asked. "I thought it was time to resurrect the Dark Lord."

"Yeah, he's still kind of stuck to the back of my head," Oliver said as he carefully removed his turban. "Care to take care of it, Snape?"

Severus smirked as he placed his wand on the skin connecting Lord Voldemort and Oliver together. "Sectumsempra."

"Owwwwwwwww!" Oliver complained.

Severus quickly healed their wounds and placed Voldemort into Oliver's arms so he could prepare the caldron.

_"Harry Potter...we meet again,"_ Voldemort said._ "Last time your mother sacrificed herself to save you and her protection is still on you. If I were to touch your skin right now, I'd lose what body I have regained. But soon that will no longer be a problem."_

"No, it certainly won't," Oliver laughed.

"Why?" Potter asked Oliver. "Why could you ever want Voldemort back?"

"The question isn't why. It's 'why not?'" Oliver replied with a chuckle. "I'm insane, you know. A million memories in my head and I have no idea why. Identities implanted and mixed together such that I don't really exist. Those memories will consume my mind eventually. All I know is that by helping the Dark Lord ascend will it be worth it in the end."

"Worth it to who?" Potter asked. "He'll kill everyone!"

"Not I. I did so much for him, from luring you here to keeping the turban on so he didn't have to witness me wipe my butt daily. I am his truest servant and he will ensure that I have my reward! And when he rules the world, I'll plant flowers! Snakes! We'll have snakes! And you'll have to be my slave for whole a day starting right now!"

"I am ready, my lord," Severus said. _Anything_ to stop Oliver's fake mad babbling.

Severus took Voldemort's small body when the Dark Lord said something in Parseltongue.

Nagini emerged from the shadows and started strangling Oliver. "What?" he cried. "I did _everything_ for you, my lord!"

_"Yes, but who is to say that the useful information from your head won't find its way to one of my enemies now that I am not constantly monitoring you?"_ Voldemort asked. _"Besides, at the rate your mind is deteriorating, you are of little use to me."_

"Let me witness your ascension!" Oliver begged as he choked. "Anything!"

_"You want a few more moments, I suppose? Very well." _He hissed to Nagini and she stopped her attack, merely holding Oliver in place._ "Now, Severus, let us begin."_

Severus lowered Voldemort's body into the caldron.

"Stop it!" Potter cried. "Just stop it!"

"Bone of the father," Severus said as he brought forth the bone and placed it in the caldron, "unknowingly given, you will renew your son!" The former Death Eater unsheathed a long knife and brought it to his ear, in similitude of the injury he had given Oliver in the previous timeline. "Flesh of the servant, willingly sacrificed," Snape said as he bit back the pain of losing his ear, "you will revive your master." Then Severus turned to the boy and saw fear in Lily's eyes. He pushed back that thought as he shoved the knife into Potter's arm. "Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe."

Potter screamed in agony as Voldemort rose again.

"Severus, give me the Wand of Destiny," the Dark Lord asked after Severus had robed him.

"Pardon me?" Severus asked.

"Dumbledore's wand, stolen from Grindelwald, a stick with a _very_ long history," Voldemort explained. "Since I am responsible for his death, the wand is now mine to command. I would rather have my own, of course, but James was able to warn me about the twin cores of my wand and Harry Potter's before I destroyed the stronghold of his mind."

_So Oliver really _is_ insane now? _Severus wondered. "Yes, my lord," he said as he retrieved Dumbledore's wand and gave it to the Dark Lord.

"Are you still watching, Oliver?" Voldemort sneered. "The last thing you will ever see? The death of Harry Potter. Avada Kedavra!"

Severus watched as Potter and Voldemort both fell at the curse.

_Oliver was right. Potter isn't a Horcrux anymore. Now it's just Voldemort and maybe his snake._

Oliver was in motion. He had somehow wriggled his hand into his robe pocket and now he pulled forth the Sword of Gryffindor.

_How long has he been keeping _that_ in there?_ Severus wondered._ Since before he came to Albania? How prepared _was_ he?  
_

Voldemort looked up at the man whose head he'd spent the last year on. "Traitor!" he screamed. "Avada Kedavra!"

Oliver fell limp right as the sword sliced Nagini in half.

_And now it is just Voldemort._

* * *

Harry's eyes opened just a little bit. _I'm alive? I'm actually alive?_ He felt like he was forgetting something, something important, but the only clue his mind provided was an image of Dumbledore at King's Cross Station. He'd probably remember it later.

"Severus," Voldemort gasped, "make sure that boy is dead this time."

_And I'm alive just to die because of Snape, _Harry thought to himself. But he didn't dare move. Making himself a target wasn't going to give Fred and George time to get help.

Snape pushed his fingers into Harry's neck.

_"_Potter, pay attention," Snape whispered through unmoving lips. "You're the only one who can vanquish the Dark Lord. You can either try an Expelliarmus or use the sword Oliver was just using."

"I can't kill anyone," Harry breathed. "Not like that. Not even Voldemort."

"Then disarm him and let us hope that Oliver prepared like the madman he was." Snape then stood and proclaimed, "Potter is dead."

Voldemort came to his feet and he walked to Snape and Harry. "Alas, poor Boy-Who-Lived. Now the Boy-Who-Died."

Harry pointed his wand at Voldemort. "Expelliarmus!"

"Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort screamed.

And yet, somehow, it was Lord Voldemort and not Harry who fell to the ground dead as Dumbledore's wand flew into his empty hand.

"Acceptable work, Potter," Snape said as he pulled Harry to his feet. "Now go join your friends while I clean up here. You can keep the Elder Wand. I believe it is yours now."

"You just helped me kill Voldemort," Harry gasped.

"I thought that was more than obvious. Now leave before I decide to have you expelled."

Harry didn't have to be told twice, but it still seemed like he was forgetting something important as he fled the Chamber.

* * *

Harry walked back up the tunnels. He looked up at the opening of the pit. Fred and George were there waiting for him and helped him back up.

"Hi, Harry," one of them said. "Nice to see you didn't die."

"Aren't you two supposed to be getting help?" Harry asked.

"You already had help," the other twin said. "Getting more would've made it all messy."

"You _knew_?" Harry asked. "Does that mean you knew I wasn't going to die either?"

The twins grimaced and looked away.

"You had to _mean_ to die," one of them said finally. "There was no way around that bit. Otherwise Voldemort wouldn't have killed the fragment of his soul in you. Fred and I knew you'd make it out fine, and you did, but we were worried that something else might go wrong."

"So where's Snape and Oliver?" Fred asked.

"Snape's cleaning up," Harry said evasively.

"Voldemort and Dumbledore need cleaning?" Fred asked. "Oh, and before you feel sad about Dumbledore, he's been dying for a while. Looking at the basilisk is honestly how he wanted to go."

"Oh," Harry said, looking away.

"Harry, what about Professor Oliver? Did something happen to him?" George asked.

Harry gulped. "He was working for Voldemort until he killed him."

"He's dead?" George asked as he collapsed to the floor and stared out into space. "No, no, no..."

"Professor Oliver was evil and had Voldemort on the back of his head for who knows how long," Harry told them.

"He wasn't evil!" Fred roared.

"Yes he was!" Harry insisted. "Voldemort killed him when he tried to escape his snake!"

"Did he kill the snake?" George asked suddenly.

"Yeah," Harry replied. "Why does that even matter? He was just trying to run away like a coward after Voldemort betrayed him!"

"He's a hero, and don't you _dare_ say otherwise!" Fred hissed.

Harry looked at both of the twins for a long moment. "I don't understand."

"That snake, like you, probably had a piece of Voldemort's soul in it," George explained. "But far beyond that, our professor has been planning to kill Voldemort for years. It was always your destiny to do it and he made it happen now instead of years from now after everyone died."

"Oliver's done more than _anyone_ to get rid of Voldemort permanently," Fred said. "You honestly have no idea."

"He still used me," Harry insisted.

"We told you a few lies to save you in there. Do you hate us too?" George asked.

That was unfair. "No, of course not, but..."

"Oliver cared about you more than both of us combined," George said.

"Can I tell him, George?" Fred asked.

"Yes, please tell Harry how much of a git he's being right now."

"Oliver is George," Fred said. "He is a George that traveled back in time to save me and everyone else. And he _died_ to do it."

"So if you call him evil, what does that make me?" George asked. "Another evil Slytherin kid?"

"He was just so..._insane_ down there," Harry said.

"Well, he would be," Fred said. "He's had Voldemort on the back of his head for a year and he couldn't let on to him or anyone that he was plotting his destruction."

"Not to mention he made the Sorting Hat give him schizophrenia," George added.

"He's been all alone for a year and no matter what happened, we couldn't do anything to really change that," Fred said. "And now he's gone forever."

* * *

George was gone. George had been gone for a while now. The Man-Who-Hid. He Who Must Be Insane. He'd pushed his mind beyond all limits and once his hidden obsession had been fulfilled, what barriers had remained against the flood of memory he had broke and there was nothing that wanted to resist anymore. He saw everything and all and none of it was real. What did reality matter? That was something for sane minds. He saw bomb sirens warn to hide. A rock floating in midair. The itch of skin touching the trail of an orange snail. A dead ginger. A boy flying after a Golden Snidget. The story of a hopping pot eating Muggles. A woman with an infant in her arms. All meaningless.

* * *

Severus looked over the Chamber of Secrets. Nearly all of the Second Wizarding War had happened in this room. The death of Albus Dumbledore by eye of the basilisk. The resurrection and death of Lord Voldemort. And the loss of the man who made it all possible.

Severus was surprised to discover that Oliver was still breathing. He didn't react to anything around him, but he had survived the Killing Curse.

_Potter's sacrifice, from the previous timeline, _he realized_. It must still be working against Voldemort. And Potter's attempt to sacrifice himself again now may have made the protection even stronger._

Severus tried to get Oliver's attention, but his face remained blank. Severus pulled out his wand and pointed it at Oliver. "Legilimens."

And he now knew what a truly insane person's mind was like. There was no coherency, no sense of self, just random memories cycling through his mind and degrading.

"George Weasley," he said. "You are George Weasley. You went back in time to save your twin brother and you stopped Voldemort from rising to power again. George Weasley. Can you hear me?"

A whisper came up through the flood. _"Snape?"_

"George Weasley, you beat him. You won. Fred Weasley lives."

_"Mungo's."_

"I will take you there."

And Old George, who had endured so much, let himself become lost even further into oblivion.

* * *

Tonks' mum was working a shift at St. Mungo's, so the Metamorphmagus decided to drop by there. Dora "Tonks" Weasley might be married and well on her way to becoming an Auror, but there were still plenty of reasons to seek out her mum's advice.

She walked into the Permanent Spell Damage Ward when something in her peripheral vision caught her attention and she quickly forgot why she had come in the first place.

"Saint," she breathed. "You're alive."

"Poor fellow," Mum said. "He's quite insane now."

"He's not insane!" Tonks defended. "Saint, you can tell my mother who you are."

But Saint George was completely unresponsive.

"Nymphadora, Mr. Oliver wouldn't be here if he wasn't—"

"He's not insane!" Tonks said again. "He wasn't the last time he was here and he can't be now! Saint George, you start talking or I'll..."

"Dora," Mum said gently, "the Healers said that last time he was here he was confused about what reality was. Now his mind is nothing but shambles and he doesn't even have a sense of self anymore. It is as if he has undergone a Dementor's Kiss. He will _never_ heal."

"Saint George, why?" Tonks wept. "Why did you do this to yourself?"

But she knew. Fred and Voldemort. Old George had sacrificed everything to stop Voldemort and save his brother. Even everything that made him George. Now he was a mere shadow of himself and nothing would ever change that.

_No. I can't give up on him. Not now._

* * *

Molly and Arthur Weasley didn't know why their daughter-in-law was so insistent that the entire family visit St. Mungo's, but they knew Tonks wouldn't have asked without a good reason. Without prelude, Tonks led them to the Permanent Spell Damage Ward to the bed of one of the occupants.

"Old George! I thought you were dead!" Fred cried as he ran for the incapacitated man and tried to embrace him. The man didn't so much as flinch. Fred turned to his twin. "He..."

"Lost his mind for real this time," George finished. "Didn't he?"

"Old George, you git!" Fred shouted at the man. "You're supposed to know who I am! You _broke_ time travel to save me and you WILL! NOT! FORGET! WHO! I! AM!"

"Fred, I don't think that's going to help," Tonks said.

"What else am I supposed to do?" Fred snapped. "Let him rot here for the rest of his life?"

"We all accepted it after Harry said he died. He's still just as gone as he was before."

"Then what are we all doing here?" George asked. "Are you _trying_ to make us lose him all over again?"

"He has a chance," Tonks said. "Anger probably isn't going to bring him back. Dumbledore always said that love was the most powerful thing, and Old George proved that better than anybody. Maybe love can bring him back to us."

"Sorry," Ron said, "but could someone _please_ explain why we're visiting Professor Oliver at St. Mungo's and why you've all gone crazy?"

"That's the other reason we're all here," Tonks said as she looked at each member of the Weasley family in turn. "Half of us know who this man really is and what he has sacrificed. We need to tell the rest of you his story.

"It really starts back in '97," George said.

"You mean '87," Ginny piped up. "Or '77."

"Or '67 if the nine is upside-down," Charlie added with a small smile. "It should only be 1990 now, right?"

"What..." Arthur started to ask, but his son shushed him.

"Who's telling this story?" George asked. "Me. Now, back in '97..."

* * *

Something in the consciousness stopped in the constant flow of nothing in particular.

That something stopped and it made other somethings stop and link to one another. They belonged together.

A memory formed, incomplete yet somehow identifiable as such. Other memories began to be pieced together.

Most bits and pieces didn't seem to belong to anything, and those swept away while the memories themselves began to link to one another.

George. That was the common factor. The identifying of the self as George.

Yet another theme, of greater importance, arose. Fred. Not part of the self but integral nonetheless.

And love. Family too great in number for George's feeble reforming mind to deal with just yet, but the memories had only love.

And that made him want to repair more memories. Who is this George? Slowly but surely, he would find out.

Sounds outside of George became apparent. Somehow he knew those sounds was what stopped that first fragment of memory in the first place. He couldn't understand everything, but it was all about George.

Memories became clearer as the words in the sounds guided his mind into recreating himself. And there were horrible things, but those things were ended. Jokes and joy, laughter and love prevailed.

He wanted to create sounds. George had memories of doing it, but he wasn't sure how. He had no control over his body at all. He searched his memories for answers. And, by some instinct he couldn't identify, it suddenly happened.

He laughed.

* * *

Fred froze. He couldn't have heard what he just heard.

Fred met eyes with his twin. George had heard it too.

They both looked down at the man lying in the hospital bed. Old George's body hadn't moved and his eyes were still closed, but there was now a smile there.

"Old George?" Fred asked tentatively.

Old George slowly opened his mouth, but no sound came out. There was still something wrong with him.

"Georgie, we're here for you," Mum said as she gently touched the ginger stubble growing from his head.

"Your Mum's right," Dad said. "You're a Weasley and we will never give up on you."

"Besides, if you don't come back, they'll probably ground you for life," Percy said.

"You're joking Perce..." Old George muttered as a tear fell down the side of his face. Whatever he said next was unintelligible except for, "don't think I've heard you joke since you were..."

* * *

The End.


	24. Author's Commentary

Author's Commentary

* * *

Happy Birthday Fred and George! In honor of their birthday, I'm posting this commentary I've been working on regarding this fic. I've gone ahead and covered far more than you ever wanted to know but I know I missed something, so feel free to ask anything else you've been wondering and I'll answer those questions below.

Also, **MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD, SO YE BEWARE!**

* * *

First, some credit where credit is due:

* George having a raccoon for his Patronus was not my own idea. What he has is never mentioned in canon, so while I searched for anyone who might have an idea, I stumbled upon Pen-umbra's deviantART page, and loved what I saw. Seriously guys, her Patronus depictions are cool. Go look at them right now.

* I don't think I said so elsewhere, but I want to give an extra shout out to partyhat, whose review for Ch. 9 was not only greatly appreciated for its in-depthness, but it also helped to make Ch. 10 better. To elaborate, this person inspired me to add the bit about George getting hurt in his younger body and forgetting to heal himself before leaving. It was exactly what the story needed at the time.

* Also, a thanks to my friend Arn, who inspired me to rough up Voldemort a bit more than I originally planned.

* And just thanks to everyone who read and/or reviewed this fic! You're all awesome!

* * *

And before we get into the questions, here's a bunch of useless information that just goes to show I've put _way_ too much thought into all of this:

* The name "James Oliver" did not come out of thin air. It was a direct homage to the actors who play Fred and George in the movies. The surname Remus "picked out of a hat" for his own cover-identity is in reference to his own film actor.

* I didn't come up with the Lysander idea during the hiatus. I knew exactly who the Trickster was back when I posted Chapter 1. I didn't know whether I'd be able to reveal that fact in the actual story at the time, but I'm happy I found something that made sense.

* I wonder whether Chapters 17-20 are really necessary. Sure some of it was fun, but hardly anything that happens in the twins' second year is relevant to the main story at all. I'm considering putting a note for future readers in Ch. 16 saying that they can skip those chapters (or at least Ch. 20 since it ended up being so boring), but I haven't decided yet.

* There is a grand total of zero scenes from Young George's perspective, which was intentional from the beginning. Fred was perfectly capable of conveying his twin's state of mind and it wasn't worth reader confusion over which George I was talking about. Besides, it kind of subliminally showed that Fred was in the driver's seat between him and his twin and that Old George had been without Fred long enough to be his own leader.

* Before Old George retrieved Pettigrew, he made sure that Mrs. Lovegood didn't do something stupid that night. She, in fact, did not attempt the experiment and so she's still alive. It will be a long time, though, before someone gets around to telling her or Luna the full truth.

* In the April Fool's Day chapter, in the scene where Lee is supposedly being chased by rubber chickens, that was actually just Old George under Polyjuice. He's sneaky like that and no one ever realized that it was him.  
** Speaking of which, Chapter 10 and Chapter 11 used to be the same chapter. I split it to cut down on the mood whiplash. That doesn't account for all the _other_ instances of mood whiplash, of course, but I usually wanted it when I left it in those times.

* The spell to send someone back in time is very bad Latin for "break the fourth wall," or, more accurately, "squash the fourth wall."

* Most of the "meaningless" memory fragments mentioned in that one paragraph in the final chapter are originally from the Sorting Hat, but two of them are from George himself: the image of a dead ginger is obviously Fred in the old timeline, but what's not as obvious is that the woman with an infant is Angelina with Fred Jr. when he was born. I feel a bit guilty about not talking about George's future family very much, but I decided early on that they would distract too much and I threw in a hand wave about deadening George's connection to them at the beginning.  
** On a side note, what Lysander did to remove that emotional connection was simply extracting George's memories of his family in the future. The way I understand it, one does not lose complete access to one's memories, if Slughorn being able to divulge the Horcrux memory twice (albeit of differing quality) was any indication. On the other hand, there's the whole "casting memories away" thing. The logical conclusion is that removing a memory from your mind leeches away the emotional potency of that memory so that you can be more objective while reobserving it through the Pensieve.

* I tried to keep my OC's to a minimum, but I probably could have cut some (and I might still go back and edit out names that add nothing to the story). There are two exceptions I can think of at the moment: Charlemagne and Healer Dorsi. Charlemagne stays because he gets zero screentime while being plot-relevant. Dorsi stays because I wanted to break tradition on Andromeda Tonks being employed at St. Mungo's because that is pure fanon. It is only established in canon that she has healing skills, which does not in any way require her to be an professional Healer. _Edited to add_: Okay, I just checked the Harry Potter Wiki again, and it seems that I overlooked one Hippocrates Smethwyck, who would have worked in Dorsi's place, except for a few details. I'll review the original text again and decide if I want to change that later.

* As George was rambling in the Chamber, he starts quoting _A Very Potter Musical._ He is familiar with his former universe's version of it and those bits were some of his last intact true memories until those too were torn to shreds. As soon as he stops quoting, he's got nothing solid of himself left but a bit of desire to please Voldemort and a strong compulsion to kill the snake after Harry "dies."

* * *

And now the questions I'm expecting _someone_ to have sooner or later (and that some of you already have):

* _That's it? That's the end? _Yes, this story ended exactly where it needed to. I probably could have drawn out the last few chapters a little more, but I stopped myself before the story took over my life anymore than it already did. I'm in school and I should be working on tests and papers instead of this, not the other way around.

* _You left a _lot_ of stuff available for sequels (Remus, Lysander, etc.). Do you want to do more with this multiverse? _As I have indicated in my Author's Notes in previous chapters, I do not intend to write any sequels, prequels, midquels, etc.—the most you might get out of me is a bonus scene or two. I do think that sequels could be cool, so if you think you could pull it off, go for it! I've left a list of writing prompts at the bottom to help you get started, if you're interested.

* _Why oh why did you do that to George?_ I'm evil. Mwahahaha. But seriously, George's main fault is that he doesn't always see the full consequences of his actions, and those consequences tend to bite with a vengeance. Still, George was willing to do anything so that Fred might live. For him, the consequences were worth it.

* _Will George ever really heal?_ Maybe. Probably not completely, but I'd like to think that he'll at least get out of St. Mungo's one day.  
** _Wait, wasn't George supposed to be all better now?_ No, _definitely_ not. He wasn't even really conscious of what he was saying. Quoting Fred's last words was instinctive on his part. Honestly, it was amazing that he was able to do anything at all so fast.

* _Why did Young George and the Sorting Hat say George had schizophrenia? _The Sorting Hat was predicting a worst-case scenario (which, in fact, _did_ eventually happen) and Young George was quoting the hat. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the clinical definition, schizophrenia is when someone has a difficult time distinguishing between fantasy and reality (and it is _not_ having a split personality, contrary to popular belief). George was able to keep a hold of himself through his Occlumency (thank you, Snape). He made his mental stronghold contain everything that he knows is his true self and he left everything else outside it, which makes distinguishing reality fairly easy. After Voldemort raided the stronghold and George destroyed his own mind, though, there was almost nothing to help George keep track of what was and wasn't real, and eventually he went catatonic. Because I wanted the story to _not_ be totally depressing, I let George start to reemerge thanks to help from his family. It may not be a completely realistic depiction of a real-world medical issue, but there's magic in this setting, so I think I'm allowed some leeway.

* _Why didn't Fred try drinking pumpkin juice again after__ Old George's "death"?_ He was worried that doing so might end up killing Young George too at worst and have Old George's status confirmed at best. It just wasn't worth the risk after Harry said he was dead.

* _Was George surviving a cop-out?_ No. I seriously considered letting him die, but the thing that stopped me was the fact that, in canon, no one died after Harry's sacrifice. Well, that might just be because we don't see any Killing Curses except for the one that kills Voldemort, but the fact that there _is_ protection from Voldemort had to be taken into account with George. I don't know if one sacrifice from Harry was enough to save George's life, but I think two (even if Harry didn't know that Oliver was George at the time) would work just fine.  
** _In that case, why didn't Voldemort burn when he first possessed George? _George let Voldemort in as a free choice, just as Harry allowed Voldemort to kill him.  
** _And why didn't Voldemort shooting a Killing Curse at George make it rebound on him?_ I think that it was a side-effect of Lily's blood magic being so powerful, given the great love and blood she shared with Harry. George has enough of Harry's blood protection to keep himself alive, but not enough to make Voldie a wraith again. Besides, killing Voldemort is Harry's destiny, not George's. If it really bothers you, pretend that the Killing Curse hit the snake and not George.

* _You said in this story that Lily knew what she was going to do with her blood magic, but Harry obviously didn't. Why the discrepancy? _Whatever Lily did to start her blood magic was transferred to Harry, so he didn't have to do that part himself, only the actual sacrifice bit. That's my answer and I'm sticking to it.

* _What got George into blood magic anyway?_ He and Fred tried to see if blood warding could be useful for their Defence products. The war ended before they had a usable product and George never had the heart to develop it further.

* _Why has George been carrying around that sword in his pocket for so long? _I haven't decided which to consider "correct" but there's two ways George could have gotten the sword and he would have different motives for each. The first method is that Snape's assumption was correct and that George has in fact been keeping Gryffindor's sword in his pocket at least since his last trip to Britain before coming to Albania. This would fit with George's intention to be on hand in case something went wrong with Snape, as having a Horcrux destroyer can be quite handy. The second way is that George, via professor comments, instructed Fred to sneak the sword in his robe pocket while asleep, since he could penetrate the blood ward without Voldemort being the wiser. In this case, the sword acts primarily as a means of getting around the Unbreakable Vow: he vowed to never bring his wand against Voldemort, but he never said anything about a sword.

* _Why go through all the rigamarole of making Harry Master of the Elder Wand again? _The Elder Wand is what killed Voldemort last time and George wanted to recreate the original circumstances as best as he could, just in case. Obviously using the phoenix-feather wands would have been a bad idea, but there's too much unknown about wandlore to know if it was any sufficiently loyal wand that would backfire like it did or if that was a trait that belonged to the Deathstick alone.

* _What does the school think happened in the Chamber? _Snape told McGonagall and she told the rest of the school that Professors Oliver and Dumbledore laid down their lives for the school and stopped the Heir of Slytherin. From a certain point of view, Snape was telling the truth, and he decided that a full disclosure wasn't necessary.

* _So Voldemort and Dumbledore were the only casualties this time? _And Tommy-boy's snakes! Don't forget about them! But yes, that's right. George was really successful at making Voldemort put off his killing spree, always saying that deaths would make Dumbledore more suspicious than mere attacks.

* _Why was there only petrifaction in the first place? _The best I can tell, there was only non-mortal attacks when Tom opened the Chamber the first time around, until Myrtle spotted him in the bathroom. I don't think everyone who had an indirect look did so by coincidence. As a 16-year-old, I think Tom may have been reluctant to kill until he got Myrtle, which may have been him panicking for all we know. Of course, he could have just been playing it cool so that the school didn't close, but the original point still stands: Tom almost certainly arranged situations so that people didn't die the first time around so he would be able to do so again in George's time. It's too much of a coincidence otherwise.

* _Why did Hermione get petrified earlier this time around? _George knew that his future sister-in-law was the most likely candidate to figure out the big secret of the year. It may not have been particularly probable, but he wanted to make sure Hermione didn't figure out something she wasn't supposed to before it was time. And besides, George being around made the "troll in the bathroom" incident unlikely and Hermione would have no trouble catching up on several months of curriculum after waking up. She also has plenty of time to get to know Harry and Ron, even if they may not become fire-forged friends this time through.

* _George told Voldemort that certain behaviors are what James Oliver is "supposed to be." But just what are those behaviors? _Hehe. That was mostly an excuse to let George do whatever he wanted while being possessed. As Voldemort understands it, "James Oliver" is a nice guy who doesn't like to talk about where his dueling skills came from. He generally keeps a cool head and can be wise at times, but he's nothing too special. Extreme paper-grading wasn't part of that persona, but was rather something that supposedly helped keep the "James" that Voldemort knew sane. Voldemort, not being much of a people person, soon forgot that part and assumed that almost everything "James Oliver" did was part of his persona. One must wonder about what Quirrell went through in the old timeline if Voldemort considered _Professor Oliver_ boring and spineless.

* _Why was Nagini around so early in the new timeline? _Back in the old timeline, Quirrell did not take months and months to find Voldemort like Snape did, and Voldemort never got the opportunity to meet his favorite familiar. I think it's unlikely that she was an actual Horcrux this time around, but it was better to be safe than sorry. We do have, at minimum, three days where Voldemort had no one but his snake and he might have taken the opportunity to kill some random Muggle and split his soul further.

* _Why did Voldemort change from using charmed skeletons to guard his Horcux to inferi when he got around to making the protections for the locket?_ Even though inferi have a major weakness in that fire is highly effective, charmed skeletons simply do not have the longevity that inferi have. It's simple: bones plus body lasts longer than bones sans body, and I think the lake was put there to help preserve the inferi over time as much as it was to lessen the threat of fire.  
** _So why did he use charmed skeletons at all? _Well, back when Voldie-poo was protecting the ring, he had yet to master inferi magic, so he just used some skeletons he likely stole from a bunch of graves. After he had been killing lots of people for a while, he may or may not have used his victims' fresh bodies to make his inferi horde for guarding the locket. Yep, Tom Riddle is a very horrible person and I am _so_ glad Harry got rid of him.

* _What were your favorite parts?_ Here, let me put that in list format:

**A Handy List of pisoprano's Favorite Parts of GWatCE**

1. Snape. Just everything Snape. He's annoyed at _everything_, which I find exceedingly hilarious. Special mention goes to him threatening Harry with expulsion to make him go away while he's still in a daze about vanquishing Voldemort. I know it's supposed to be a serious scene, but that moment makes me smile.

2. The Quidditch prank. The PC games instilled in me a bit of hatred for gnomes after they stole my beans one too many times and using them in place of a Beater's bat would be much preferred. For those of you who think I'm being cruel, I'm positive that the gnomes will be able to withstand more than a few hits to their thick skulls just fine.

3. "Elvendork! It's unisex!" If you do not know where that comes from, go read the Harry Potter Prequel. This shout out almost happened by accident. I was just writing along and fakecrazy!George started babbling about Padfoot's gender and calling him Elvendork just popped into my head and it was too good to _not_ leave out.

4. When the twins et al. find out who the Saintlike One is. Basically everything written before this was written to get to this point, which is why I ended up on hiatus afterwards since I wasn't sure what to do next besides find a way to get rid of Voldemort.

5. All of Ch. 23, especially after the attack on the stronghold. I'm usually rubbish at endings, but this one worked so well. That may or may not be because I've distilled the climaxes of five of the books in the process, but...

6. Anytime George says something that sounds completely insane. Special mention goes to his plan to catch a unicorn.

7. The wand George claims to get from Gregorovitch. It is literally the stupidest wand I could come up with. For those of you who don't know what a Chizpurfle is, it's a tiny parasitic critter that attacks magic, including wands. The alder dyed silver lime was a bit of foreshadowing on my part (Quirrell's wand is alder, silver lime is usually for seers) but it's still ridiculous for a wandmaker to tell you he dyed the wood. Also, the wand is far longer than anyone else's. I'll let you draw your own conclusions about that.

8. The plot to annoy Lord Voldemort. Special mention goes to annoying him via extreme boredom. Also, in retrospect, I should have incorporated some from Amanda Lack's list of ways to annoy him. Let's pretend that some of those happened offscreen.

9. "My turban is cool." The Eleventh Doctor in _Doctor Who_ acquires a fez at one point and goes through a similar ordeal that Professor Oliver does with his turban. Unfortunately, the Doctor's fez was killed, so I made its spiritual brother, the turban, survive. Also, Voldemort was rather attached to the turban, so he couldn't lose it yet.

10. The last line. Originally, I was just going to have Old George laugh and Young George and Fred share a quiet moment together where they vowed to keep helping George get his mind back. I decided that the other Weasleys needed to be more involved and while adding their support, I realized that Fred's final words were the perfect conclusion to this story, albeit somewhat garbled since Saint George isn't up for much talking yet.

*_ Why did you leave so many "Handy Lists"?_ Because they were handy.

* _What was the deal with Broderick Bode learning George's secret?_ I wanted the knowledge of long-range available if someone else needs it. If we're _really_ lucky, someone might be able to go back in time to stop George from trying to help Snape with Voldemort. It's unlikely, since someone would have to jump back however many hundreds of years in one jump (there wouldn't be enough latent temporal energy to allow for multiple jumps), but it's still a possibility.

* _Why did you spend so much time on the relationships of Remus, Tonks, and Charlie?_ I like the "Remus and Tonks" relationship being canon. Remus, however, was the only canon character I could think of that George might send further back in time (and given how much I had to stretch canon for him, that's saying something). So I did my best to give everyone good reasons to go along with this significant change to the original story. I probably overdid it, but oh well.

* _Isn't Old George's dueling skills a bit unrealistic?_ Maybe a little. He had DA training and lived through the war, but those alone didn't make him as fast and instinctual as he is in the story—that was more a result of the fact that he worked in a joke shop and many a kid has tried to pull a prank on him over the years, so he got quite good at protecting himself from the unexpected hex. Though having George hold off future-Auror Tonks without even thinking about it is a bit much, I'll admit.

* _What happened to the Philosopher's Stone? _It hasn't been destroyed this time. Dumbledore advised Mr. and Mrs. Flamel to lie low for a year with the Stone to make sure Voldemort didn't find out that Snape was lying about that.

* _So how _did_ Sirius get his hands on Riddle's diary?_ He won't tell me. I assume it's because it was so anticlimactic that he finds it more amusing to act all mysterious about it.

* * *

Some Writing Prompts:

* Lysander Scamander has jumped back in time to when James Sirius Potter, Fred Jr., and all the other Next Generation characters are in school in order to stop something horrible from happening. As a bonus goal, give a secondary reason for removing George Weasley from the timeline shortly after Lysander's arrival.

* Remus Lupin has jumped back in time to 1960 and must figure out how to prevent Voldemort's rise to power while keeping his lycanthropy a secret from everyone. As a bonus goal, make Broderick Bode an important character or give Remus a relationship with Pomona Sprout.

* Fabian and/or Gideon Prewett jump back in time to prevent something horrible from happening. As a bonus goal, involve Carlotta Pinkstone in some way.

* Old George's road to recovery and consequences of his actions. As a bonus goal, have Healers consistently worry about his progress when their patient insists that he's George Weasley or have someone attempting to become an "artificial seer" too.

* A centuries-old Parvati Patil decides to jump back in time to 1991, using a method protected by the Department of Mysteries until the temporal energies renewed themselves enough for the jump, so that she can stop her old Defence professor from going insane and maybe stop something else that's horrible from happening. As a bonus goal, involve the Philosopher's Stone in some way.

* The discovery of twin time travel. As a bonus goal, show how they discover the rule about being silent for a year about the time travel.

* The _real _story behind the Fat Lady and Godric Gryffindor. As a bonus goal, write it in Old English.

**Update (3 April 2013)**: Invisi has started writing a fic based on the fourth of the above prompts entitled "George Weasley and the Road to Recovery." I'm excited to see where it goes. If you want more story, you might as well start there.


End file.
